New Blood: Return of Tom Riddle
by Rawrofl'd
Summary: Next generation. Albus meets his first two friends on the Hogwarts Express, and one of them is a charming young boy going by the name of Thomas Riddle. Soon, fear is among the teachers at Hogwarts; is this really Lord Voldemort all over again?
1. Chapter 1

New Blood: Return of Tom Riddle

Chapter One  
First Meetings

* * *

Albus Severus Potter stared solemnly out the window of the rapidly moving Hogwarts Express that had only just left the station, staring aimlessly at the blur that was the wide landscape and scenery, feeling a mixture of emotions. He felt excited, happy, alone, and fearful. Excited and happy because he was about to attend the greatest wizarding school ever, but alone and fearful because there wasn't anyone sitting with him now, not even the other first years. He feared the fact that there was a slight possibility that he might be sorted into the Slytherin House, instead of the Gryffindor House he so badly wanted to be sorted into. James, his older brother, had evoked much apprehension, anxiety and fear in him during the holidays, and Albus had begun to fear the Slytherin House. His father, however, Harry Potter, had comforted him many a times during the holidays, and even before he had got onboard the Express had Harry given him his last comforting words. Albus remembered with much amusement that James had once started telling Albus the scary tales and legends of dark wizards that had once come from the Slytherin House, instilling much fear in the ten year old. Harry immediately interrupted and Albus had remembered him speaking of his godfather, Sirius Black, with much pride.

"I had a godfather, and he was a brave man indeed," Harry had said to Albus during the summer, "His name was Sirius Black, and his family had every single member going into Slytherin, and you would expect him heading into the same house as well. But did you know what house he was sorted into at his first year? Gryffindor, can you believe it?" Harry had exclaimed.

He remembered his father's expression, and it was one that was full of joy and pride, for Sirius Black must have been a very brave and outstanding godfather to his own father. Thinking back, Albus had begun to calm his fears as he sat alone in the train compartment. Alone, for he could not risk stumbling and staggering up and down the corridors searching for his cousins, Rose or Hugo, or perhaps even Teddy Lupin, the big brother he never had, let alone James Potter. James was probably sitting in a compartment full of his friends, not caring that his younger brother was sitting alone in an empty compartment, that he was feeling extremely left out. Albus couldn't really care much about his brother, and decided to hope that maybe Rose, Teddy, Victoire or Hugo would come running in any moment.

After fifteen more minutes of pure isolation and solitude, the compartment doors slid open. Albus turned around quickly, hoping it was one of his cousins, but there entered a boy with coal black hair and a charming and handsome face, followed by a girl with bronze hair and bright blue eyes. "Are we allowed to sit here with you?" asked the boy, who had a very young voice indeed, and if Albus hadn't known any better, he would have thought that the boy was a third year, or perhaps his brother's age. "Yeah, of course!" Albus was more than pleased to let these two strangers in with him, if it meant that he didn't need to spend the rest of the journey alone. The boy sat next to him, and the girl sat across the two. "I'm Tom Riddle," said the boy politely, extending his hand. Albus took it and shook it, smiling back at Tom. "I'm Albus," he replied, looking from Tom to the girl. The bronze-haired girl then said, "My name's Delilah Swan." Albus was immensely relieved that they were friendly enough, and that they were also first years as well. "I'm glad you two came in, I was beginning to feel bored," drawled Albus, leaning back against the seat again.

Tom merely smiled. "Oh, we wouldn't have come in here at first," said Tom, making Albus wonder whether Tom was being rude or sarcastic. "We had actually found a compartment to ourselves, but then a group of boys - I think they were second years - came charging in and took the compartment. I think one of them was named James." Albus wasn't surprised; that was so like James to bully other people. Harry had once said that James was exactly like his grandfather, who coincidentally, was also named James. "That's my brother alright," Albus said, arms folded, while Tom just kept his solemn expression. "He's a bit mean at times, but you'll learn to live with him." Delilah giggled at that, and actually added, "He doesn't look as bad as those other bullies though." Tom and Albus stared blankly at her, not sure of whether she had already taken a liking to the rogue James Potter. The dark-haired boy quickly cleared his throat and said, "Er - let's tell each other about our families, then. Albus, you go first." Albus was relieved at the change of subject, instead of having to contemplate whether Delilah had a crush on his older brother or not. It was revolting to think about it, really.

"Well, okay. My dad's named Harry Potter and my mum is Ginny Potter. Actually she was Ginny Weasley, but you know how it is when people get married... and I have a brother - you know him, James, yeah, and I have a few cousins as well. I'm not going to name them, but we might see them around Hogwarts sometime." As soon as Albus had finished, he had realized that Tom and Delilah both had peculiar expressions upon their faces.

"What?" he asked slightly worried that he had said too much. "Harry Potter?" Delilah repeated. "The one who defeated the Dark Lord nineteen years ago?" she asked, while Tom narrowed his eyes at Albus, with a hint of curiosity, admiration, and perhaps a little jealousy? Albus stared at her, bewildered. He didn't remember Harry telling him about him defeating this Dark Lord, whoever he was... "What are you talking about?" asked Albus, curious. Tom Riddle merely kept his mouth shut, his eyes narrowed, as if he were thinking about the matter as well. Delilah stared at him, mortified. "I can't believe you don't know! He's your father, Albus!"

"Hey, it's not my fault my dad keeps stuff from me!" retorted Albus. "He must have a pretty good reason, I reckon."

"Well, I think otherwise," said Tom suddenly, his tone almost close to an inescapable sneer. "Harry Potter was a famous guy. He did great things for our generation, and you're pretty lucky to have such a great dad."

Albus shrugged. "He seems normal to me."

"That's cause you don't know what he did!" whispered Delilah excitedly. "You can see his stories in the Daily Prophet and he's been in every single one!" Albus laughed derisively. "Don't exaggerate, Delilah! I'm sure it's not every single one!" Tom smirked from the corner of his lips. "Fine, then. I'll tell you what happened," said Tom, his eyes piercing Albus'. For the next few minutes, Tom spent the time telling Albus his father's heroic journey in defeating Lord Voldemort, spanning over a long period of seven years. The more Tom spoke of Harry as if he were a legendary hero, the more Albus grew to admire his father, but on the other hand, disappointed as Harry hadn't told him anything about this certain Lord Voldemort.

When Tom finished, Albus could only gape at Tom like an idiot. "Your father was so amazing," said Tom, with a hint of envy in his voice. Albus couldn't help but to feel a little proud of his dad, but he would leave the interrogations of the entire family – that probably knew – about Harry's past. "What about you, Tom?" asked Albus, wanting to know more about this pale-faced friend of his.

"My parents died even before I knew them," said Tom, his face and tone both equally expressionless. Albus exchanged looks with Delilah, and he hastily said, "Oh, sorry. W-What about you, Delilah?"

"My father and mother are both wizard and witch, and they've really tried hard to teach me the basics before I came here."

"So you know more than we know now?" said Albus, trying hard to be skeptical. Delilah shrugged. "I don't really listen to them, but I read the books in my spare time."

"In spare time?" repeated Albus, evidently aghast. "Who reads textbooks in their spare time?"

Delilah glared silently at him.

* * *

After they had changed into their robes, Albus, Tom and Delilah got ready to alight from the Hogwarts Express. Albus was terribly excited, and he could see the excitement on Delilah's face as well. Tom, however, seemed perfectly at ease – as if he had done this before and it wasn't his first year after all. "Tom, you don't seem pretty excited being a first year," commented Albus lightly. Tom merely smiled. "I wouldn't want to have a heart attack, now would I, Albus?" The three laughed, before they were interrupted by James and his pack of rowdy friends. "Hey Al, I see you got yourself a few friends!" he said, smirking arrogantly as he slid open the compartment door. Albus merely shrugged, and said, "Course I did." James waved at Tom and Delilah and said, "I think I was far too rude to you juniors back there. I'm James, Al's brother." Tom and Delilah waved back politely. "Well, good luck for the sorting, Al! You two as well! I'll be expecting the lot of you in Gryffindor!" As he and his friends alighted from the train that had already stopped, Tom turned to look at Albus.

"I don't like him much," hissed Tom. Albus shrugged again. "You'll get used to him. He's just like his grandfather, my dad always said. C'mon, let's go before we're taken back to London!"

The trio got off the train, and immediately, a loud, thunderous voice resounded through the station. "Al, hey, Al!" yelled Rubeus Hagrid, gamekeeper of Hogwarts. He waved to the young boy that was Harry Potter's second youngest child, and noticed that he already had two friends tagging along from behind. "Hey Hagrid!" exclaimed Albus, hugging the large giant as tight as he could. "Well, now, it's good to see yer, Al! How's mum and dad?" asked Hagrid, smiling broadly. Albus grinned. "They're fine. Look, I want to introduce you to my two new friends, Delilah–" The bronze-haired girl waved cheerfully. "– and Tom!" finished Albus.

Hagrid stared in horror at the pale boy Albus had introduced as Tom. He was the spitting image of the boy he had met back in his days in Hogwarts as a student, and it was the very same boy that grew to become a much feared Dark Lord for many years, until Harry had stopped him…

"Hagrid? Are you alright?" asked Albus, shocked at Hagrid's sudden look of terror on his face. Hagrid looked back down at Albus and smiled nervously. "Well 'o course I am! Happy first year, kids!" he said, chuckling. Tom continued to glare at the gamekeeper, and began to wonder if there was something the insolent man had wanted to say to him at the very mention of his name. He looks like a foolish man, Tom thought shrewdly as he eyed Hagrid. But I've seen him somewhere before… like out of a dream…

"Well, keep movin' the lot of yeh! The boats are awaitin'!" yelled Hagrid, trying hard to address the rest of the first years rather than Albus and his friends alone. As he watched them get on the boats, Hagrid couldn't help but to notice how eerily alike Tom and Voldemort had been. As long as he wasn't a Riddle, Hagrid had nothing to worry about. "Many coincidences," Hagrid told himself, "many damned coincidences…"

It took Albus, Tom, and Delilah about twenty minutes to arrive at Hogwarts, and they followed the crowd of first years up the steps to the grand castle. As soon as they entered the castle, they were immediately awed by the magnificence of the interior, and the many portraits of past wizards and witches that smiled down warmly at the young first years. "This is so amazing!" whispered Albus with a smile on his face. He knew that Hogwarts was wonderful from what his parents and James had told him and Lily, but he didn't realize it would be so spectacular. "Well, firs' years, head up the stairs and Professor McGonagall will meet you for the sorting!" yelled Hagrid from a few feet away from the awe-struck first years.

The first years were led, surprisingly enough, by a daring boy with striking blonde hair, and Albus began to wonder if that was Scorpius, Draco Malfoy's son. Nevertheless, they made it to the entrance of the Great Hall where McGonagall was waiting, smiling warmly at the newcomers. "Welcome to Hogwarts, first years! If you will please follow me, we will begin with the sorting shortly," she said, clutching a scroll which bore the names of every single eleven year old in front of her. The large doors opened, revealing more students, second years to seventh years, and the teachers in front all sitting in a row, with the Headmistress' chair empty. McGonagall, Albus had guessed again, was the Headmistress of Hogwarts.

And so, the sorting began.

"Potter, Albus!" called McGonagall, seemingly pleased to see the miniature version of Harry Potter step up to the chair, evidently worried. He sat down as she placed the sorting hat on top of Albus' head. "Hmm, another Potter!" exclaimed the hat triumphantly. "It's pretty obvious where you're going, boy!" Albus swallowed hard. Was it Slytherin, or was it Gryffindor? He could see James' sneering face, but he knew all that would change once he was sorted into…

"Gryffindor!" yelled the hat. Albus broke into a wide grin as he stood up and ran over to the Gryffindor table and sat down next to his brother, who ruffled his hair. "I knew you'd make it," said James, with a grin on his face. "I was just scaring you a bit." Albus didn't respond, he was anxious for his two other friends, Tom and Delilah.

When it came to Delilah's turn (after a few students or so), the hat immediately shouted, "Gryffindor!" She leapt down from the stairs and sat in front of Albus, next to a tall but familiar Gryffindor to Albus, who shook her hand warmly and said, "Name's Fred." Fred, the son of Albus' uncle George, turned to Albus and grinned. "Uncle Harry would be happy to know," he said to Albus. The last name on the list was inescapably shocking to the staff.

McGonagall stared wide eyed at the name for a moment before stuttering out, "T-Thomas R-Riddle!"

Hagrid stared in horror as the same boy stepped up to the chair and sat down, waiting to be sorted. The same pale, yet handsome face, and his coal black eyes and hair… it was almost as if he had come back again! "Your mind is difficult to see, young one… although I have heard of a boy with your name… long ago. How uncanny it is to see you here… a clone of sorts… but," it paused for a while, creating an eerie silence, "I could never know any better than you do… Tom. Very well then, let's see how you do in…"

The suspense almost gave Albus the urge to scream, "Gryffindor!"

The hat sighed, and said, "You, Tom Riddle…"

Tom wasn't scared. He merely hoped to be sorted into any house other than Ravenclaw, or the weak Hufflepuff. "A brave heart, but a cunning mind… oh alright, Gryffindor!"

The whole Gryffindor table burst into applause, for none of them knew of the last Tom Riddle that ever studied in Hogwarts, the Tom Riddle that grew to become Lord Voldemort. The teachers stared, mortified. What was going on? Why did this boy, this Tom Riddle ever appear again in their lives, after the incident that happened twenty years ago? McGonagall turned to the teachers, equally shocked. _He went into Gryffindor… but he couldn't… Voldemort? Or perhaps this is just pure coincidence? _McGonagall thought hard, as she returned to the Headmistress' seat.

The feast was quite delicious, especially for the first years. Tom ate in silence, while Delilah and Albus continued to speak excitedly with Fred, James and the rest of Albus' cousins and relatives. "Hey, Tom, why aren't you talking?" asked Albus, nudging his friend. Tom shrugged. "I dunno. I feel weird," he replied. "You sick?" Albus asked, suddenly concerned. Tom shook his head. "I doubt it." Albus shrugged as well and nudged him again. "Well, I want you to meet my cousins, and you've already met James, so…"

Tom looked up at Albus' cousins. They were all smiling at him, and Fred outstretched his hand first. "Fred Weasley. Pleased to meet you," he said, and glanced at the teachers' table, "You made quite the impression on the teachers."

"Oh shut up, Fred! That's not a very nice thing to say," said Rose, glaring away.

"You have a big family, Al. I envy that," said Tom.

Albus grinned, his mouth filled with pudding. "Ish all righ', you can marry into our family," said Albus foolishly. Tom laughed. "I'm not going to marry anyone that soon!" he said, his mood lightening. Fred winked at Tom and said, "Well, maybe Rose here would…" Before Fred could finish, a spoonful of pudding was thrown at his face. "Now, now, Fred, no influencing the little children before they're of age!" teased Victoire, wiping the pudding off her cousin's face. Rose giggled and said, "Better watch your words, Fred, if not it's more than pudding that's coming to you!"

Fred raised his hands in surrender. "Come on! Teddy's marrying Victoire, isn't he?!" The whole group laughed, while watching Victoire turn red. "Look, he's nineteen and I'm only seventeen," said Victoire, knocking him on the head, "we're not getting married!" Albus leaned closer to Tom and whispered, "Ted graduated two years ago. He's Victoire's boyfriend, and my dad's godson."

* * *

After they had said their goodnights, Tom, Albus and Delilah headed their separate ways to the boys' dormitory and the girls' dormitory respectively. Albus and Tom stayed up a bit to talk for a while, seeing as how everyone isn't turning in that early yet; His cousins and siblings were down in the common room. "I think it's going to be great here," said Albus. Tom nodded; he was terribly excited, even if he didn't show it in his face. "Defense Against the Dark Arts are first period tomorrow… my dad used to tell me that it was his best subject!" announced Albus proudly.

Tom glanced out the window and said, "I guess your dad was the greatest wizard, second to Dumbledore, of course."

"Yeah, I know. Dad always talked about Dumbledore at home."

Tom Riddle felt a pain at the back of his head, and decided to turn in. "Well, I wanna get some sleep tonight. You can go back down and join your family, Al. Night."

Albus felt slightly disappointed; he had wanted to speak with his friend a little while longer, but decided it was best that he left Tom to his sleep. He jumped out of bed and headed down to the common room, where Ted, Victoire and his cousins were.

That night, Tom Riddle had a terrifying nightmare.

* * *

Author's Note:

How's it? Do comment! (: I think I screwed up at some parts, because I realized that Ted was 19 at the time and he already left Hogwarts, and changed it a bit too hastily :x


	2. Chapter 2

New Blood: The Return of Tom Riddle

Chapter Two

The Nightmare

**Author's Note: **_Tom-centric. Enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or this new Tom either *sniff*, but I own the storyline!_

* * *

Tom Riddle opened his eyes, and he realized he was in the Great Hall. Was this all a dream? There was a difference, however, in the Hall. Many students were standing all around him, eyes looking terrified, some disgusted – and yet, some of them seemed to be directed to another person in front of him. Tom shifted his eyes warily to the boy in front of him. At first he thought it was Albus, but as he looked closer, he realized it was Harry Potter, glaring at him from his bright green eyes, holding his wand. Tom looked down at himself and noticed that he was holding a wand of his own, but it was not his wand. It felt different, and it was definitely not his wand at all. He looked up again and heard Harry say, "You're right, but before you try to kill me, I'd advise you to think about what you've done… think, and try for some remorse, Riddle." What was going on? What had he done wrong? Tom stared blankly at Harry as he opened his mouth to speak – at first he had no intention of saying anything, but the rage in him was inexplicable. "What is this?" he hissed in a horrifyingly high voice, curious.

Tom didn't know where his feelings were coming from, but he knew they were powerful, and dark. "It's your one last chance," said Harry, raising his hawthorn wand, "it's all you've got left … I've seen what you'll be otherwise … be a man … try … try for some remorse…" Again, the anger in him burned his insides as he hissed in a high voice, "You dare—" but was cut off. "Yes, I dare," Harry had said, his eyes piercing Tom's, "because Dumbledore's last plan hasn't backfired on me at all. It's backfired on you Riddle." Now he was confused. Why was everyone looking at him in terror, as if he were something evil, dark, and why was he facing Albus Potter's father in a duel?

"Where am I," he had wanted to say, as his hand was trembling on the foreign wand, but nothing came out; he wasn't in control of his body here. It was a terrifying nightmare, and Tom knew it wasn't just any dream. It was only after a while when Harry finally finished, "Because if it does… I am the true master of the Elder Wand." A red-gold glow burst suddenly across the sky above, and Tom looked up in shock. What is the Elder Wand? What kind of nightmare is this?

Tom watched as his hand raised itself, and shrieked in the same, terrible voice, "_Avada Kedavra!_" He heard Harry yell, "_Expelliarmus!_" as he yelled his own spell at the same time, and green light burst from his wand. Golden flames erupted between him and Harry, marking the point where the killing curse and Harry's spell had collided, and immediately, the wand flew from Tom's hand and Harry had caught it. Within a split second, Tom fell flat on the floor, seemingly alive, but his body was dead, and the scene switched.

Scene from scene, Tom had witnessed himself killing many innocent victims to his own horror, and had tried to shut his eyes, but nothing worked. He couldn't control anything – it was like sitting strapped to a chair in front of a horror scene. At one point, he had caught a glimpse of Harry's parents – he knew this because the man he faced yelled to his wife, "Lily, take Harry and go!" Again, he killed the man mercilessly with the killing curse and proceeded to kill Lily, then Harry. Tom was horrified.

And then, it all went black.

Tom couldn't see anything but the darkness, and when he tried looking down, he couldn't even see his own body. All he heard was a distant voice, screaming, yelling for him. "Tom! Tom… wake up, Tom!" He instantly recognized the voice as Albus'. He tried to scream back, to call Albus here, but nothing escaped from his lips but silence. Again, Albus yelled, "Tom, come on, we're going to be late! Wake up!"

Almost immediately, his eyes flew open. He sat upright in bed, sweating. The sunlight that streamed into the room nearly blinded him, and he shielded his eyes. "Tom, get dressed, it's fifteen minutes to Defense Against the Dark Arts!" Albus said frantically, throwing Tom his robes. He rubbed his eyes and quickly changed in a lazy manner and got ready. He and Albus raced down to the classroom, and were relieved to see that the teacher hadn't arrived yet. Albus spotted Delilah and sat down next to her, followed by Tom. "What took you two?" she asked irritably. "You're lucky Professor Rick isn't here yet."

Albus glanced at Tom worriedly – he was still sweating. Tom noticed their nervous stares, and murmured absently, "Nightmare." The doors suddenly burst open as a blonde man strode into the room, dressed in dark blue robes. He had a handsome face, but one that had the word 'arrogant' written all over it. He was disgusted at the thought of teaching first years, but he knew he couldn't defy McGonagall's orders. _I bloody well rather teach seventh years than these little children, _he thought shrewdly.

"Good morning class, I am Professor Rick, although my last name is Johnson, I prefer my first name, so… if you will… please, take a seat."

Everyone sat down, and Rick began the introduction of Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Throughout the lesson, Tom was silently taking notes. He tried to take his mind off the nightmare he had by keeping himself as busy as possible, but images flashed in his head. The strangest thing was, everything felt familiar, even the part where he dueled Albus' father. He shrugged the thought off, and resumed taking notes diligently. At the end of the lesson, Albus and Delilah were both gaping at his notes – or rather, he had been recording everything Rick had said, only missing out several points which he thought unnecessary.

"Seriously, how do you do that?" asked Albus curiously. Tom grimaced. "Well, anyone can do it if they weren't falling asleep in class," he replied shrewdly. Albus seemed taken aback. "Oh come on, I woke up earlier than you!" he retorted.

"Yeah, well, you slept late last night, remember?"

Delilah sighed. "Guys, this isn't the time for fighting over each other's sleeping habits! You're lucky you weren't late, or else it's detention!" she exclaimed. Tom folded his arms and shrugged. "Whatever," he said, as he walked away. Albus narrowed his eyes. "You know, he got all cranky after having that nightmare. I wonder what it was?" he murmured to Delilah. She merely shook her head. "Whatever it is, it must have been horrible."

"Obviously," muttered Albus under his breath.

* * *

Soon enough, owl posts arrived in Hogwarts, each owl belonging to a student. Tom's was a black hawk-like owl, with an extremely sharp beak. In between the beak was a roll of parchment, but as it neared Tom, he realized that it was the _Daily Prophet_. Tom didn't remember ordering the _Prophet_; there was no use for it being a first year here. As the owl landed in front of Tom, it screeched approvingly as it stuck out its left leg. Tom took the _Prophet_ and rolled it open. It wasn't brand new; it was from over twenty years ago. Puzzled, he started reading the front headlines and noticed that it was about Harry Potter's victory against Voldemort. It spoke so greatly of Harry, and the way Voldemort died, and even a few lines of what they said… but of course, Tom already knew… he had dreamt of it…

Suddenly, the unexplainable rage swelled in him again as he crushed the corners of the newspaper. He didn't understand who would have sent him this; he had no other kin, at all. And the rage was far too great to be his – Tom felt like he was being possessed.

"Hey Tom," said Albus, while chewing on a piece of toast, "why d'you look so angry?" He eyed Tom's _Prophet _and his eyes widened. "Why are you reading this old thing?" Tom let go of the newspaper and sighed. "I dunno. I dunno who would send this to me," he replied bitterly, the rage still seething inside him. Albus started reading it, and quickly grabbed the whole paper. "Blimey, it's my dad! But… this date was twenty years back… why did you get this?" Albus asked.

Tom shrugged. "It wasn't me. I dunno. Just came by itself on my owl."

Delilah looked troubled. "Why is it about Voldemort? Does it have something to do with you?"

"No!" Tom said too loudly, causing many heads to turn in their direction. His voice dropped. "I don't know. I can't explain the feeling when I read it… I really dunno." Delilah sighed. "It's alright, Tom. Probably because the story's been retold over and over again… maybe you feel a familiar with it because you know it already." Tom scratched his chin with one finger. "Maybe," he began, but then suddenly turned cold. He didn't need people guessing him all the time. It was annoying. "But you don't know _how _I feel when I read it. Leave me alone, okay?" Icily, he glared at Albus who began to speak, silencing the boy.

Grabbing his books, Tom decided to head early for Potions. The further he got away from Delilah and Albus, the better. He wouldn't have to unleash his strange anger on them by hexing them or yelling angrily at them as if they had just offended him badly. He entered the dungeons swiftly and silently, and began to unpack his books and ingredients for today. Horace Slughorn, however, did not hear Tom walking in, and continued to sort out his own materials for the day's lesson.

Tom looked up, surprised. He looked at Slughorn with a curious look – as if he had seen him somewhere before, deep in memory… or perhaps it was just déjà vu. He shrugged to himself and put his books down a little too hard, causing Slughorn to jump in his seat and look up at Tom with that same face of terror as Hagrid had on first sight. "Professor," said Tom, his tone expressionless as usual, concealing the lingering rage, "I wanted to come in early, if that's alright with you."

"No… no… I mean yes – well, y-you know what I mean. Not to worry, Tom," said Slughorn a little too nervously; who had broke out with cold sweat, and was wiping his face furiously, as if trying to get rid of a terrible stain on his face. Tom narrowed his eyes at the professor, evidently irritated and confused. Why was every teacher staring at him in the same, foolish manner? He wasn't a monster! He was only Tom Riddle!

Bursting with impatience and curiosity, Tom asked, "Professor, I was wondering why you and Hagrid looked at me that way."

Slughorn looked up at Tom; his terrified look had changed into a look of confusion, and asked, "What way?"

"_That way_," repeated Tom, as if Slughorn hadn't heard him, "the way you look at _evil_ people. You fear me?" His dark black eyes pierced into Slughorn's, intimidating the Potions Master a little. If Slughorn didn't know any better, it could have been an egoistical assumption. _That's an understatement! _Slughorn thought.

He realized Tom was still staring at him, with that same, impatient look, filled with… impending fury? "I don't fear you Tom. You're only eleven, after all. Must've seen a ghost of sorts behind you," he lied casually, although he was still sweating. It was partially true, for Tom Riddle was supposed to be dead twenty years ago…

"Well… okay," said Tom, his suspicions decreasing just by a little.

He returned to his seat and stared absently at his Potions textbook, as if trying to open the cover using non-verbal magic, but he was really just thinking about the teachers' expressions every time he walked past them with a grimace – it was his only way of hiding his feelings from others – and they would simply look at him with that same terrified face. It was stupid, and it always made him moody.

Soon, the students filed in, some surprised to see him so early – but the Slytherins were sneering at him for being such a 'good boy' in class, something which Tom hated about the ignorant Slytherins. He could hex them when he wanted, but he preferred not to get into trouble at his first year at Hogwarts. Maybe, when he was a little older, he would make them fear him…

Tom frowned. Why was he thinking that way? Suddenly, Albus and Delilah sat on either side of him, interrupting his train of thought. "Are you alright, Tom?" asked Albus, slightly worried. Tom glared at him, and Albus winced slightly. His expression gradually softened and they were on good terms again. "I was feeling a little moody. Preferred to be alone," he said simply, opening his textbook to the page Slughorn had indicated on the board.

Potions had gone by swiftly, with Slughorn teaching them about bezoars, and their uses to the wizarding world. Tom, as usual, had taken down exemplary notes again as other lessons, and Albus was beginning to think that Tom would be the top scorer when their OWLs came.

Once the lesson had ended, Tom quickly gathered his things and made for the next class, with Delilah and Albus following him with much effort. Along the way, Albus accidentally crashed into another first year, which was a Slytherin, and was followed by his group of friends. The blonde Slytherin crashed into a taller boy, who had seen Albus banging into his friend. The blonde didn't glare, but he treated Albus fairly enough. He helped Albus pick up his books and Albus smiled gratefully at him. One of the boy's friends, however, stepped forth and bellowed, "Watch where you're going, scum!"

The blonde boy had begun to speak, but Tom Riddle was too fast for them. He quickly turned around upon hearing the insult directed towards Albus, drew his wand and pointed it at the tall boy's cheek, glaring angrily. "Watch your mouth, Goyle," he hissed. Goyle glared back at the shorter boy and pushed him. "What are you gonna do about it, Riddle? Hex me? Go on!" threatened Goyle, smirking deviously while pushing Tom backwards against the wall. "Don't think I won't," Tom snarled.

"Oh yeah, come on then! Do it! Do it—" Before Goyle knew what had hit him, he was sent flying backwards, crashing against the wall. The blonde boy, who was named Scorpius, quickly rushed to his side. "Goyle!" he breathed, while his friend slipped off into unconsciousness. Scorpius stood up and turned to Tom, who merely kept his wand silently.

"He deserved it, Malfoy," Tom said almost unfeelingly. "Take him to the hospital wing." Scorpius didn't retort, but he merely sighed at his friend's foolishness and pigheadedness. He grabbed Goyle by the arm and Crabbe, his other friend, supported Goyle on the other arm and they walked away, with the group of Slytherins glaring at Tom. Albus looked at Tom, filled with awe. "That was brilliant! You hexed him straight in the chest!" Albus exclaimed, grinning. Delilah gasped, and pointed at an oncoming Professor McGonagall and Professor Slughorn, who had seen everything.

"Do you have a career in becoming an Auror, Mr Riddle?" said Slughorn, smiling nervously, before looking down at the ground in shame when McGonagall glared at him. "Tom, do you realize you have just hurt a fellow schoolmate?" she asked, her voice controlled, hiding the fear that she had inside her. Tom looked up at her, with the same, innocent look as he had always did, and said, "He pushed Albus." McGonagall looked at him, lost for words. "It was only a push Tom! He didn't hurt Mr Potter, did he?"

"He was going to. I could feel it," Tom said, clutching his books a little tighter. That seemed to have frightened McGonagall, the way he said it, and she hastily regained her composure and said, "Ten points from Gryffindor. There will be no detention, but if I see you hurting people again—" Tom merely smiled at her with the same, familiar smile Lord Voldemort owned when he was sixteen. "It won't happen again, I assure you that, Professor." As he walked away, with Albus and Delilah following him, McGonagall looked at Slughorn, apparently worried. Who was to say that this boy wasn't the Dark Lord himself? And who was to say that he hasn't returned yet another time?

"We had better inform Dumbledore," said Slughorn, remembering the portrait of Dumbledore in his old office. "He won't be able to do anything about it, Horace," said McGonagall, walking in the same direction Tom had. "I have a lesson with Riddle; we'll talk about this later."

Throughout Transfiguration, Tom sat in silence as he took down his notes as usual. It clearly didn't bother him whether Goyle was seriously injured or not – Albus, on the other hand, kept repeating in whispers that it didn't really look like a hex after all, and that Tom merely blasted him backwards. Delilah silenced him and the three returned to their notes.

Inside Tom Riddle, the same anger had risen again. He closed his eyes for a minute to calm himself down, thinking that there was something wrong with him. Somebody was speaking to him, and only he could hear it.

_Tom Riddle…_

…_come to me…_

_Tom… Thomas… Marvolo… Riddle…_

The whispers sent chills down his spine, and they sounded exactly like Voldemort had in his nightmare.

* * *

Chapter two, complete! Enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

New Blood: Return of Tom Riddle

Chapter Three

The Other Riddle

**Author's Notes: **_Enjoy, the chapter title says it all! I'm terribly inaccurate at the ages of all the characters, characters' cousins, brothers, sisters and all, and doing research gives me a headache, so do guide me along if I get anything wrong. And, well, I truly suck when I have no motivation (especially at Quidditch), so please comment! It's good for the mind. HA!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own HP, I own the storyline._

* * *

The time had come for the first Quidditch match of the season, and all the first years were definitely excited. The first match was Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and Albus was anxious about the match because James and Victoire were playing on the Gryffindor team. They had all brought out their Gryffindor scarves and quickly went down to the Quidditch field, awaiting the exciting match. James, naturally, played Seeker, and Victoire was Quidditch captain and Keeper. Jason Wood, a fellow Gryffindor, played Chaser along with a couple other guys, and another boy whom Albus didn't recognize, played beater with his partner, Roxanne Weasley. Albus aspired to be part of the Quidditch team one day, and he certainly would like to try, but he was always a klutz on a broomstick, and James had always teased him during their holiday flying practices with his dad. Harry, however, told him to keep working at it, and maybe one day Albus would become part of the Gryffindor team.

They reached the Quidditch pitch before the match had started, and Albus stood at the front row, with Tom and Delilah on either side of him. "Oooh, I can't wait to see James play!" she exclaimed a little too loudly. Albus stared at her with a look of horror on his face. "Are you another fan of my brother's?" he asked accusingly, with a hint of amusement in his voice. Delilah blushed and shook her head. "No, it's just that I've yet to see him play as Seeker!" she hastily said, turning back to the field. The commentator was Fred Weasley, whom Albus recognized as Uncle George's son when they had came over for Christmas last year. In the Gryffindor crowd, Albus could see Louis and Dominique, probably anxious for the appearance of their elder sister, Victoire.

Albus glanced towards Tom, who still held a solemn look upon his face, despite the cheers coming from the Gryffindor crowd. "What's wrong? Aren't you excited? A few of my cousins are playing, later on," he said, trying to strike up a feeble conversation with Tom. He sighed and turned to Albus. "I guess I'm not into Quidditch," he replied simply.

The voice of Fred Weasley drew everyone's attention to the pitch as he yelled into the microphone, "And now, here come the brave Gryffindors!" The Gryffindor team flew upwards into the air and everyone cheered wildly, with Victoire leading them in a neat V-shape formation. "Oh dear, I see my cousins there… hello Victoire, can you see me?" There was a ripple of laughter as McGonagall snatched the microphone from Fred and shouted, "Keep to the match!" Fred grinned sheepishly and retrieved the microphone.

"Here come the nasty – oh, sorry Professor – the _brilliant_ Slytherins!" he yelled, his voice dripping with evident sarcasm. McGonagall sighed; she would have known better than to take George Weasley's son as the commentator. The Weasleys had a flair for cracking useless jokes at the wrong time. The Slytherins flew out onto the pitch, with their captain in the lead. The Slytherin captain had a menacing look on his face – as if he was determined to murder the Gryffindor team.

Soon, Madam Hooch stepped out onto the field and ordered the captains to shake hands. Victoire shot the Slytherin captain a venomous look as they attempted to crush each other's hands. They parted, and Madam Hooch released the golden snitch, followed by the bludgers, and then the Quaffle. "GO GRYFFINDOR!" yelled Albus. Tom was only interested in the Seekers. He merely followed the Seeker's movements – namely, James Potter. He was following the snitch, with the Slytherin Seeker following close behind. "Jason Wood scores for Gryffindor!" exclaimed Fred in excitement as the Gryffindor crowd cheered wildly.

James Potter scanned the field from high above, his narrowed eyes shifting left and right, searching for that elusive snitch. The Slytherin Seeker was having a hard time as well, and all he could do was to fly around the field multiple times. James rolled his eyes. All it took was patience to spot the snitch, and zooming around blindly around the bloody field would do no good, he thought shrewdly.

He turned to the Gryffindor House and saw their expectant faces, and he felt slightly more nervous. This time, Albus was here, and James Sirius Potter wasn't about to embarrass himself in front of his little brother. _I can do this… I just need to find the bloody snitch…_

Suddenly, a golden blur whizzed past his face, and James smirked triumphantly. The pathetic Slytherin Seeker still hadn't spotted it yet. James sped after the golden snitch, and narrowly avoided Roxanne, who had the Quaffle in her possession. He gritted his teeth and outstretched his hand, wanting to capture the snitch before the other Seeker noticed him chasing it. "James Potter – that's my cousin, blimey – has seen the snitch! Poor old Zack, can't you see James flying after the little thing?" mocked Fred, grinning as Zack, the Slytherin Seeker, turned around with a horrified look on his face when James whizzed past him, apparently chasing after the snitch which he did not see.

Immediately, Zack followed James, determined to knock him away from the snitch's trail. James, however, was too alert for him, and swerved right abruptly. The snitch had changed its direction, and James' eyes were locked on it. Zack continued to fly behind James, cursing loudly. James was much faster than Zack, despite the fact that James was a second year and Zack was a fourth year. "James is going to catch the snitch!" yelled Fred, filled with bursting excitement. James outstretched his hand and reached for the snitch as it got nearer and nearer…

Before James' hand could close around the golden snitch, Zack crashed against him, fazing him slightly. James glared at Zack; the two had been Quidditch rivals since their first match together. He forced Zack to the nearest spectators' tower, forcing the Slytherin to change direction immediately, losing his chance for the snitch.

Luckily, when James turned his head back to the snitch, it was still there, awaiting a Seeker to capture it. James smirked, and quickly extended his arm again and finally caught the snitch. The Gryffindors roared wildly with triumph as James let out a yell of victory, coming to a slow stop in front of the Gryffindors. "James Potter has caught the snitch! Gryffindor wins!!" Fred yelled, jumping to his feet, his face ablaze with happiness.

"Oh, Fred, do _behave _yourself!" said McGonagall, although she was as happy herself.

James smiled down at his little brother, who was cheering happily with his friends. Yet again, James Potter has earned another Quidditch victory against the Slytherins.

After the match, the Gryffindor common room was filled with celebrating students. "The Slytherins were obviously no match for you guys!" exclaimed Albus, while his brother lay down lazily upon the couch, still wearing his Quidditch uniform. Tom smiled too, although he felt a bit more drawn to the Slytherins than the Gryffindors. "Of course…" said James arrogantly, "did you see how I made Flint collide into the spectators?"

"Almost," corrected Albus. James rolled his eyes at his little brother. "Fine, _almost_. He must be fuming now," sneered James. Soon after, Victoire approached them and sat down beside Albus and sighed. "The crowd never gets old," she says. "That match wasn't even hard; I didn't even have to save anything!"

"Oh, don't complain, Victoire, you should try being Seeker for once. It's hard work," James said. Victoire folded her arms and shook her head. "No way, James, I'm not that good a Seeker. I only concentrate on the Quaffle, and I've been training like that for seven years now," she replied, leaning back against the couch. Tom shut his eyes in annoyance; the noise was getting louder and louder. "What's wrong, Tom?" asked Albus. James and Victoire both looked at Tom as well. He shook his head and stood up. "I have a headache. I'm going to head out for a while," he said. Albus watched his friend leave the common room, and sighed.

"What's wrong with _him_?" asked James. "He seemed like he actually hated the Gryffindors winning. I saw his face just now. It was as if I did some great evil to him." Albus raised an eyebrow. "That's impossible, Tom's in Gryffindor! He wouldn't hate it; he'd love it, like the rest of us!"

"Well, he might like Slytherin more than Gryffindor," Victoire suggested, "although it's quite impossible. Slytherin's a house for arrogant idiots like James."

"Hey!" James glared at his older cousin. Victoire laughed and stood up. "I'm going to bed; James, you better change out. You smell like a pig." As she left, James' face changed into a face filled with annoyance. "After every match, she never fails to say that. I always bathe after a rest, and she says it as if I _never _change out of my Quidditch uniform!" Albus rolled his eyes. "Well, you're going to leave a stench on the couch that'll stay for centuries if you don't get up any sooner… I can't blame Victoire for insulting you and your smell," he said.

James sighed, stood up, and aimed one of his usual kicks at his brother's leg. "That's for the insult, and once you're in the Quidditch team, you're going to smell exactly like me," he said, scowling. Albus sat up and asked, "You mean you think I can get in?!" James shrugged. "Maybe, if you're good enough. But I think you wouldn't do well in being a Seeker. Trials are before Christmas, so keep an eye out for those trial dates. Don't embarrass me, Al," he said. Before leaving the common room, however, James turned back and said, "Oh yeah, I dunno about that Tom, but I think I heard of him from somewhere… something to do with Hogwarts. I dunno… could be déjà vu. But whatever, all I know is, if he doesn't make it onto the team, I'll be grateful. He seems like a potential traitor." With that, James left.

"He's so mean," said Delilah, "and if I didn't know any better, I thought he'd be a nice guy."

Albus scoffed. "It's only because you think he's good looking," he said shrewdly. Delilah smacked him on the head. "Alright, fine! I was only being sarcastic!"

Delilah smiled bitterly. "Sure you were," she said. "Next time you like someone, rest assured that my sarcasm will be better than yours by the time." Albus folded his arms in defiance. "Who said I was going to like anyone?" he asked, annoyed. Delilah giggled. "I wouldn't know. We're only eleven, after all!" With that, Delilah stood up and headed for the girls' dormitory.

* * *

Tom walked along the dark corridors, the mysterious anger rising in him for no apparent reason. Was he possessed? Or was it really because of the noise? Whatever the reason, Tom felt confused, and he especially needed a punching bag right now. He knew this anger wasn't his, and Tom was beginning to feel that it had something to do with this Voldemort. His walking sped up a little, until he stumbled upon a cabinet filled with badges and trophies. He peered inside, and by the silvery moonlight, he could see the names of previous Seekers, Head Boys and Girls.

Suddenly, a name written upon a badge belonging to a particular Head Boy caught Tom's eye. On the badge, was the name Thomas Riddle. He bit his lower lip; he didn't know there was another student who had the exact same name as him who had studied here before. What's more, he was Head Boy! Tom didn't like whoever that Thomas Riddle was, because he had the same name as Tom. It was uncanny, and Tom didn't recall any of his relatives with the same name that he did.

Suddenly, the hairs on his neck stood on end as the familiar chilly feeling resurfaced.

Tom looked around, suddenly paranoid, feeling as if someone was there, watching him closely. "Who's there?" he asked, drawing his wand. "Show yourself!" _Tom… _the voice called. _Thomas… come to me…_

"Who are you? What d'you want?" he asked, feeling slightly more afraid than usual. He was never afraid before, and this was certainly the first time some ghost or poltergeist would have scared him. _I am… Lord Voldemort… _

The voice seemed to be coming closer… and closer...

Tom spun around wildly in the darkness, shivering with fear. "You're s-supposed to be d-dead!" he stuttered.

_I… am… you… Riddle…_

"N-No…"

"Tom!" _Tom! _The high voice rang louder than that of the other boy's.

"Stay away from me!" Tom fell back to the ground in horror, looking warily in different directions, expecting Voldemort to spring out at him any moment.

"Tom!!" Albus' voice rang across the corridor, relieving Tom of his fears. "Lumos!" whispered another man, and when the light appeared from the tip of his wand, Tom instantly recognized him as Horace Slughorn. "A-Albus…"

"Oh dear, Mr Riddle, you're as white as a ghost!" Slughorn said, seeing the slight irony in his words. Albus rushed to Tom's side and helped him up. Tom still felt himself trembling as he supported himself against the nearby pillar. He was still clutching his wand tightly, afraid that Voldemort might still be around somewhere. "What happened?" Albus asked, looking worried. Tom shook his head. "N-Nothing," he lied.

"I could hear you yelling from a corridor away," said Albus. "Don't lie to me, Tom. What happened?"

Tom was still breathing heavily as he whispered in a terrified voice, "He was looking for me…"

Slughorn lowered his wand a little, suddenly interested. "He kept telling me to go to him… he knew my name…" Tom's heart was still beating rapidly as he said it, remembering the high, demanding voice of Voldemort. "And he said… and he said…"

"Said what, Tom?" Slughorn asked, fearing for the worst.

"He said… he said that he was… he was… me."

"Who was he?" asked Albus.

Tom looked up at Slughorn, and then to Albus, and said, "Voldemort."

Albus turned to Slughorn, who merely held a pale face. "I dunno what he wants," said Tom. "He's following me…"

"I think it's time we approached the Headmistress," said Slughorn, dabbing the sweat off his face with his handkerchief. "This cannot wait any longer, Mr Riddle. Follow me."

"What about me?" Albus asked, apparently wanting to accompany his friend now, for fear that the same thing might happen to him. Slughorn thought for a while, and decided that it was best if a friend had followed Tom. "Alright," he said, and the three made their way to the Headmistress' office.

Minerva McGonagall was inside her office, checking the Transfiguration essays from the third years. "You seem troubled," said Dumbledore from his portrait. "I sense it's something serious." McGonagall looked up at the last Headmaster of Hogwarts and sighed. "It's nothing, Albus," she said, although she knew very well that Dumbledore was able to see through her clearly, even though he was dead. "I have been your friend and colleague for years, Minerva. It must be something, if not nothing," he said.

Before McGonagall could answer, rapid knocking interrupted their conversation. "Minerva, Minerva, open up!" said Slughorn from the outside. "It's something serious!" She stood up and made her way to the door, with Dumbledore's faint chuckle echoing in the office. Upon opening it, Slughorn and Albus supported Tom into the office and sat him down on a nearby chair. "What is this?" breathed McGonagall, mortified at the sudden entrance of Tom Riddle.

"I believe… it's more than meets the eye, Minerva," said Slughorn. The two sat down across each other, with McGonagall's desk in between. Slughorn glanced at Tom worriedly and turned back to the Headmistress. "He claimed that Voldemort… well… called him," he whispered. McGonagall let out a gasp as she asked, "There is only one Voldemort in this world, and he's dead. It's impossible!"

"If Mr Riddle could come back as the doppelganger of Thomas Marvolo Riddle, what else isn't impossible now?" argued Slughorn. "The fact is he claims he heard Voldemort calling to him, and there's something else too. He told us that Voldemort had said that he was Tom himself, and that apparently… shook the boy terribly."

McGonagall shot Slughorn a worried look. "Something dark's happening here, Minerva, and I'm beginning to think that Harry didn't completely destroy Tom after all," he whispered. "But that's insane to think about it," she said. "We all saw him drop dead in the Great Hall!"

"I know, but nothing is impossible anymore, not when he showed up," said Slughorn, glancing at Tom once more, who caught him looking, and he immediately turned back to McGonagall. "All I know is, if Tom finds out about Voldemort's past, he's going to be traumatized, and he might… well he might be possessed next time. Many things can happen to just a boy, Minerva."

"What if he _is _Voldemort himself?"

Slughorn couldn't find the words to reply. He, too, was thinking of that dark possibility. "What if he was… what if he had come back to life again, as the boy we used to know… with the hidden soul of Voldemort inside him?" she whispered, even softer now, for fear that Tom might hear them. Slughorn swallowed hard, and mopped his forehead again. "I don't know. Perhaps Dumbledore would know more, but we can't talk to him now. Not when he's here," he said.

McGonagall looked over Slughorn's shoulder, and noticed that Dumbledore had a disturbed look on his face while looking suspiciously at Tom. "I will speak with Albus," she said. "Do not inform the teachers yet, only when I have confirmed who Tom is."

Slughorn nodded. "I'll take the boys back up then," he said. McGonagall nodded, and watched Slughorn stand up and stride over towards Tom and Albus and said, "Let's go back. Don't worry, m'boy. It'll be alright." Once the three left, Dumbledore let out a loud sigh.

"What do you think, Albus?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "For once in my life, Minerva, I do not know what to think of this."

* * *

Chapter 3 complete! Woohoo!


	4. Chapter 4

New Blood: Return of Tom Riddle

Chapter Four

Secrets Kept

**Author's Note: **_Hello, here's chapter four. Do remember to leave a review behind!_

* * *

A week passed since the incident of Tom's encounter with Voldemort, and he still could not forget the experience. He sat in silence in the common room on a gloomy Saturday afternoon, staring blankly at the fireplace. The rest of the Gryffindors were in Hogsmeade, and the first and second years were at lunch, so he had the whole place to himself to think. He attempted to drop the matter altogether, and tried to tell himself that it was all his imagination, but he knew that he could not deceive himself. The voice was real, and Tom knew that it would go on forever, haunting him for life. Why was Voldemort following him? Why was Voldemort calling him, instead of anyone else? Tom always knew that he wanted to be special, but he never would have expected that he would be this 'special' in front of a dead Dark wizard.

He turned his wand over and over again in his hands, frowning darkly. A week ago, that very night, Slughorn and McGonagall were whispering to each other, and both had troubled expressions on their faces. Slughorn had glanced at Tom twice, and the second time, when Tom caught him looking, Slughorn turned back with a face filled with sheer terror. What was wrong with him? Tom scowled softly to himself; were they judging him on the inside, just because of Voldemort? He shouldn't be treated this way just because of a dead wizard, and he certainly wouldn't let them. Slughorn had told him that night that he would explain everything to Tom if he had the chance, but a week has passed since, and Slughorn had always avoided Tom after every Potions lesson.

Tom gritted his teeth, greatly annoyed by the behavior of the Potions Master. A promise was a promise, and Slughorn seemed bent on keeping secrets from Tom, even if it was about him. There was something familiar about Voldemort, something deep inside which Tom couldn't figure out quite clearly. He seemed to know Voldemort, even if he was being haunted by the wizard, and there seemed to be some sort of connection between the two. Slughorn and McGonagall both tried to put his problem on hold, as if _his _problem was just another one of those student whims that _they _had to handle. Tom knew that his problem wasn't the same, and he had tried to emphasize that to Albus and Delilah, but the two were looking as if he had just gone mad.

He knew he wasn't mad. He was completely sane, and everything that's happening to him was happening for a reason. Voldemort wants him for something, and the two just didn't seem to care! His problem wasn't like anybody else's; his problem was far more dangerous than anyone would want him to think! This time, the anger that swelled inside him was definitely his. Tom gripped his wand tightly and clenched his other fist. He stared deeply into the fire, as if hoping that a solution would present itself soon enough.

_Crack_.

Tom jumped up from his seat and turned around, pointing his wand directly at the hooded figure in front of him. His fears were reawakened as the hooded figure _glided _towards him, and he backed away slowly, his wand still pointing at the figure's chest. "Do not fear, Tom," said the figure, with a surprisingly charming and young voice. It wasn't the high, chilling voice that Tom had expected. Instead, it belonged to that of a teenager's. "I will not hurt you. I cannot touch you," he said again.

"Who are you?" Tom asked, his hand trembling on his wand. "What do you want from me?" The figure raised his hand and silenced Tom, as he lowered his hood, revealing a handsome face to Tom. "I am you, Tom Riddle," he said easily, smiling at the little boy in front of him. Tom looked at his older version in horror, and yelled, "You're Voldemort! Get away from me!" Voldemort raised his hands in surrender and walked towards Tom, moving swiftly through the couch. "I cannot hurt you, Tom. And I can never go away, for I am within you," he said. "We are one being altogether."

"Leave me alone. I… I'm not evil!" Tom whispered, feeling slightly hopeless at his conversation with a ghost.

"If I, Lord Voldemort, am evil, and I am you… what do you think that makes you?" said Voldemort, narrowing his eyes. "You cannot escape the truth, Tom. You _are _me. And I _am _you."

Tom lowered his wand slowly, knowing that he couldn't possibly hurt a ghost with a wand. A ghost was dead, and it couldn't hurt him at all. "What is it you want?" he asked, gaining courage to speak up. Voldemort smiled. "Sit down, Tom, and I shall explain everything to you," he said, sitting himself down on another couch on the left side of the larger chair. Tom eyed Voldemort warily and sat down reluctantly. "Firstly," Voldemort started, "I would like everything I've said in this room to be kept a secret. What I tell you is not for anyone else's ears, and it is only between us. Understand?"

Tom almost scowled. "Okay," he said, suppressing his annoyance. He wasn't a kid, and he hated people using those tones on him. Hold up, doesn't that mean he hates _himself_? He clenched his fists and looked back up at Voldemort, who still held a frozen smile on his face. "Let me ask you… who are you?" Voldemort asked. Tom raised an eyebrow. "I'm Tom Riddle," he answered, feeling slightly underestimated.

"Yes… and I am Tom Riddle as well," Voldemort replied, smiling. "Would you like to know your family? What really happened to them?"

Tom sat up straighter now, paying closer attention than ever. "Your father was a Muggle, named Thomas Riddle as well. Actually, he's our father, but you know what I mean don't you? Our mother was from the Gaunt family, a very powerful pure-blood family who were descended from Salazar Slytherin. So, in simpler words, you are the last heir of Slytherin," said Voldemort, watching Tom's expression turn into a face of shock. "I'm sure Professors McGonagall and Slughorn know that very well, and they haven't told you. I don't think they plan on doing that any time soon."

"Why not?" asked Tom, feeling angry at the thought of Slughorn and McGonagall.

"They don't want you to become like me," said Voldemort, watching Tom's every movement.

"I'm not going to become a Dark wizard," he said, with a hint of defiance in his voice, as if trying to disobey his older self. "You can't change it, Tom," Voldemort said, his eyes narrowing. "You are who you are, and you are the heir of Slytherin. You should not belong with the foolish Gryffindors; the Sorting Hat knew of you as well and probably feared for your future. That was why he put you in Gryffindor instead of your rightful house."

Tom didn't say anything, he just pondered over Voldemort's words slowly. "I don't want to kill anyone," he said.

"Didn't you feel the delight in injuring Goyle?"

Tom looked up again. "Didn't you feel good, in hurting someone as incompetent as Goyle?"

"You were following me." It wasn't a question.

"I was always inside of you, Tom."

Tom pursed his lips. "It felt normal."

"Exactly!" Voldemort hissed. "It would have felt otherwise for a normal wizard, he would have felt guilty, but you do not!" Tom was about to say something, but at that exact moment, Albus and Delilah walked into the room and spotted him. "Hey Tom!" called Albus. "Why weren't you at lunch?" Tom furrowed his brow; couldn't they see his other self? As if Voldemort had read his mind, he said, "They cannot see me. I am part of your soul. Only you can see me, feel me, and speak to me. I will return another time, but remember… I will appear when you want me to."

Tom watched Voldemort fade, and Albus stared at Tom with a strange look. "Tom, why are you staring at that empty couch?"

He turned back to Albus and shook his head. "Nothing," he said. "I wasn't hungry." Albus sat down on the couch where Voldemort had previously occupied and sighed. "Are you feeling better?" asked Albus, referring to the other night's incident. Tom nodded. "I'm fine," he replied.

"Um… I kinda told Delilah about it too," Albus said, smiling sheepishly at Tom. With his surprise and shock still lingering inside of him, Tom found it hard to get angry at Albus or Delilah. "It's okay," he said. "I don't mind. So long as no one else knows, I'm fine with it. It's a secret, okay?"

"Okay," Albus replied. He and Delilah both sighed with relief. "Oh yeah," said Albus, "Hagrid's invited me to tea later on, even though I went yesterday. Do you two wanna come?" Tom looked up; he could use something to get his mind off the conversation with Voldemort – he was _certain _he wasn't going to become a Dark wizard. "Okay," he said. Delilah nodded too. "Oh alright, Hagrid'll be delighted!"

_I doubt it, _Tom thought.

* * *

That evening, Albus, Delilah and Tom made their way down to the grounds, where Hagrid's hut was located. As soon as they arrived at Hagrid's doorstep, Albus knocked loudly on the door, and the trio could hear Fang's muffled growling from the inside. "Move it yer dumb mutt," said Hagrid, "don't you remember me tellin' yeh that Al was comin' over?" The door creaked open and there stood the large half-giant, Hagrid, staring down at the three first years. "I invited Delilah and Tom. I hope you don't mind," Albus said happily, while Delilah and Tom waved at him. Hagrid couldn't help but to stare at Tom longer, before clearing his throat and saying, "All righ', come on in then…"

The three followed Hagrid into his hut and sat down around the table while Hagrid fetched the kettle from the fireplace. "Have yeh ever bin in the Forest?" he asked. Tom thought that Hagrid's attempt at a conversation was rather lame. "Not really, we're not allowed, remember?" Albus answered, as Hagrid settled down across the three. "Oh yeah, righ'," he mumbled absent-mindedly. "I forgot." He took out four cups and poured hot tea into each of them, his hand beginning to tremble. "What's wrong?" asked Albus, spotting Hagrid's trembling hand.

"Nothin', nothin'," Hagrid said, while accidentally spilling tea on the table. He quickly took a rag and wiped the puddle of tea and sipped his tea a little too hurriedly and scalded his own tongue. Delilah raised an eyebrow and glanced at Albus with a look that said, 'What's wrong with him?' Albus shrugged and sipped his tea slowly, while Tom's cup remained untouched.

"So, how was the firs' week for yeh?" asked Hagrid.

"It was okay," Albus said. "The teachers are nice, especially Professor Neville." Hagrid chuckled nervously, feeling Tom's eyes on him at all times. "Neville's bin a good teacher all righ'… his Herbology was excellent back in your father's days…" he said, sipping some of his tea again, this time a little slower.

"So… uh… which subject do yeh like? All three of yeh?" asked Hagrid again. Albus was the first to speak. "I think Defense Against the Dark Arts is my favorite. Dad said it was his best, too," he said. Hagrid looked at Delilah next, and she said, "I think I like Charms. It's quite interesting, really. Professor Flitwick is nice as well!"

Hagrid grinned. "Once yeh reach yeh third year, you'll be taking Care of Magical Creatures, an' I'm teachin' it!" he said, still grinning. He looked at Tom almost too reluctantly and stuttered, "H-How bout yeh, Tom?"

"I like Transfiguration. I like practical lessons, you see," he replied, staring at Hagrid intensely, as if trying to intimidate the Gamekeeper. "Oh." Hagrid looked back down at his teacup immediately and started to blow at it gently, trying to occupy himself with something to do. The rest of the session was quite silent, as Tom tried drinking the tea. To his horror, it tasted quite much like water, and glanced at Albus, who merely shot him a sheepish expression.

"It's gettin' late, Al. Yeh and yer friends better get back up to the castle," said Hagrid, collecting back the cups slowly. "Okay," said Albus. "We'll visit you some other time." Hagrid turned his back to them after nodding, hoping with all his heart that Tom would not follow him the next time. "See you, Hagrid." As soon as the door slammed shut, Hagrid fell back onto his couch and sighed.

Fang whimpered slightly as Hagrid glanced at his dog. "What, yeh feel it too?" he mumbled, before closing his eyes to rest.

* * *

"I don't see _why _he has to look at me like that," growled Tom, kicking the wall of the Gryffindor common room. "Are you sure you weren't imagining things?" Delilah asked. Tom turned from the wall and glared at her. "He looked as if he had seen a _ghost_!" Tom said, although deep down inside, he knew the reason why – even though he couldn't accept it at all.

Even if this Voldemort was a Dark wizard, it didn't mean that Tom would _turn into _Voldemort all over again. Maybe he could change things, and be just like he is right now and perhaps he wouldn't have to care about his other self, this Lord Voldemort. It was insane to think that one day, he would start killing innocent people for no apparent reason, like he had seen in the dreams, and probably ruin thousands of lives.

But what if he _did _become Voldemort? Would someone have to kill him then, like Harry Potter had killed his previous self? He feared for his life, and he wasn't about to die just because some spirit of a Dark wizard was haunting him, pressing him to become what he really was. Tom wouldn't believe it. He wasn't a Slytherin, he was a Gryffindor! Gryffindors don't kill people for the fun of it; Tom was good.

Yes, he was a good person, and he would never turn to the darker side of a wizard.

"TOM!"

Albus' voice had, once again, interrupted Tom's train of thought. "What is it?" he asked, annoyed. "We were calling your name for the past minute, and you were staring blankly into space, as if you were _deaf_!" said Albus.

"Fine, I'm sorry!" Tom retorted. Why did they always have to interrupt him when he was thinking?

Delilah rolled her eyes. "We wanted to ask you if you were interested in going to the library tomorrow. We have homework to do, and we'd jolly well finish it by tomorrow!" she said. Tom bit his lower lip. "Fine, I'll go, but I already finished it, so I'll only be watching you two."

"Blimey," Albus said, "d'you mind helping me out in my Potions homework?"

* * *

That night, Tom Riddle found difficulty in sleeping. He tossed and turned in bed, his eyes tightly shut. Suddenly, a voice called for him from the corner of his ear. "Tom," whispered the familiar, young and charming voice. "Wake up, Tom."

Tom forced open his eyes, only to face the same face of Voldemort, his older self. "It's time I showed you your life," Voldemort said. "I sensed your doubt. I will have none of it, Tom." Tom felt Voldemort's cold hand grabbing his and the two were sucked into an unfamiliar dreamscape. They landed on the pathway to an old house, with a horrifying sight greeting Tom at the doorstep.

A snake was nailed to the door, hanging loosely. Tom felt revolted at the sight of the dead snake. "Come," said Voldemort, gliding easily through the door. "I will show you your mother. Don't you want to see her?" Tom felt obliged to follow, and easily walked through the door as Voldemort had. Inside, an old, emaciated man sat in front of the fireplace, with another man beside him on another chair.

When the words first escaped the old man's mouth, Tom thought that it was normal English. "_Merope, fetch me my dinner!_" he said, pointing at the skinny girl, who stood in front of the stove, cooking something that looked even worse than the snake outside. The younger man, Tom observed, was playing with a medium-sized snake in his lap. "_Obey me, and you will not suffer the same fate as your brother,_" the man said. Tom realized that it was Parseltongue, something that he could understand ever since he first spoke to a snake!

The snake hissed, "_Yes master_," and nodded in obedience. Tom looked up at his older self, who looked back down at Tom with a faint smile on his lips. "This is your family, Tom. The old man is Marvolo Gaunt, your grandfather. The man beside him is your uncle, Morfin. The girl… as you would guess, was your mother. _Our _family," said Voldemort.

"But… but they…"

"They are of course living off the result of their ancestors – greed. They have nothing left for themselves."

"How come you've seen this? We… we weren't even born yet!" Tom said, thinking that it was an illusion that the Dark wizard had created. "I've only recently discovered it, from the Headmistress' office in Hogwarts, while you were there. It was there that I discovered our family, Tom."

Tom turned back to the scene as Merope, his mother, edged towards the window, with a smile on her face. He approached her and looked out the window, and realized that she was looking at a man riding on a horse, with an extremely handsome face that resembled Voldemort's. This must be his father. "T-Tom…" At first, when the whisper left Merope's lips, Tom thought that she could see him. But he realized that his father was also named Tom Riddle, and that she was merely in love with his father.

"The man ruined your blood, Tom. The Muggle wasn't fit to become our father. The result of their misplaced love was us, half-blooded wizards." Tom could sense the seething rage in Voldemort's voice, and felt his cold hand touch his wrist. They were sucked into Hogwarts again.

This time, they were looking upon the familiar face of Harry James Potter. "Here, we follow the life of the very boy that killed me," whispered Voldemort, with obvious contempt in his voice.

* * *

Chapter four, done!

Next chapter: Harry James Potter

Review! It really motivates me! Thank you all who reviewed :D


	5. Chapter 5

New Blood: Return of Tom Riddle

Chapter Five

Harry James Potter

**Author's Note: **_Thank you all for your generous reviews! Constructive criticisms always help. Oh, and I know Slughorn and McGonagall may both be a bit too old after twenty years or so, but I couldn't really find newer teachers. But anyway, what's done is done; I just hope all of you enjoy this. The title says it all, do enjoy! Yes, and I know this sounds like the story opposite that of Harry's, but it wasn't intentional. Ha! :) And yes, I know one part in this chapter is real corny - as quoted from my friend. Best friends! :D Hmm... I'm getting cornier by the second. -shakes head-_

* * *

"Why?" Tom asked, looking back up at his older self. "Why do we have to follow _him_?" He obviously thought the idea was unnecessary, as Harry Potter had already left Hogwarts – had already left the past of Voldemort behind him. Voldemort shook his head and smiled. "You have to understand our pain, Tom, if you are to turn into Lord Voldemort," he said simply, while the two watched eleven year old Harry Potter descend the steps to face a certain Professor Quirrell. Tom nearly scowled. How would Voldemortbe so sure that _he _would be willing to turn into a Dark wizard? "This was my – or should I say, _our _first meeting with young Harry Potter. Doesn't he resemble your friend, Albus?" said Voldemort, sneering. "I used Professor Quirrell as my first plan to get near the boy… but apparently… he was useless."

"He came here to kill me," Voldemort continued, glaring angrily at the young boy dressed in a red sweater, and light brown pants. Tom realized how much Harry resembled Albus, and he began to wonder if one day, it would be Albus killing him if he were to turn into the evil wizard he probably was. The thought scared Tom, and he shuddered. He would not fall into the path this Voldemort had. There, they watched how Quirrell removed his turban and reveal the face of Voldemort on the back of his head.

Then, Harry moved towards the large mirror that was presented in front of him, and stared at it for a long moment. Tom frowned; what was going on here? Where was the supposed Sorcerer's Stone that Voldemort had been talking about? Then slowly, Harry reached into his left pocket and his face immediately changed into that of a surprised boy. Tom narrowed his eyes and knew immediately that the Stone was inside Harry's pocket. But what harm could an eleven year old boy do to a powerful Dark wizard? "You'd be surprised," Voldemort muttered, "that this little first year could actually ruin my first plan. It was humiliating."

The two watched as Quirrell advanced towards Harry, his right arm outstretched, forcing his own hand onto Harry's face. To Tom's surprise, Quirrell started screaming in pain as he retracted his hand as if he had just touched hot steel. His right hand crumbled and Quirrell was only left with his left hand. Harry, seeing his new opportunity, ran up to Quirrell and covering the professor's face with both of his hands. A gruesome sight greeted Tom as Quirrell's face disintegrated just like his right hand, and soon, the body of the professor reduced to nothing but ash. "It's time we moved on," muttered Voldemort again.

This time, they found themselves in a sewer-like sort of place, with a slightly older Harry, dirty and wet, staring at the Slytherin who was Voldemort. Tom felt quite confused at that point. "You didn't think… that I would use my filthy Muggle father's name," snarled the other Tom Riddle, who was dressed in Slytherin robes, "in fact, I made myself a new name… one that would be feared by wizards and witches alike!" Tom frowned and looked back up at Voldemort, who was too absorbed with his own memories.

"I would have killed Harry Potter, if it weren't for that phoenix of Dumbledore's," he hissed. "The Basilisk would have killed Potter instantly…" His voice faded as the gigantic snake slithered out upon Riddle's command and hissed loudly at Harry. Suddenly, Tom's attention was directed to the red bird swooping down onto the Basilisk, digging out its eyes, rendering it unable to kill Harry with just a glare. "…but Dumbledore _always _had to interfere," finished Voldemort.

"We shan't waste anymore time. I will show you Harry Potter's insolence, and his cowardice to what he really is. A useless half-blood," Voldemort said, grabbing onto Tom's hand and sucking him into a dark graveyard.

"This is where my father's bones lay," he whispered. "Tom Riddle Senior."

There, Tom could see Harry trapped in between a statue of a hooded figure and its scythe, his wrist dripping with blood. A short, stubby man used the tip of the knife that had cut Harry's wrist to put a few drops of blood in the nasty looking cauldron of something which Tom didn't want to know. Soon, it started bubbling furiously, and the cauldron slowly changed into another cloaked figure – which Tom had already guessed was Voldemort himself, but with a different face.

His face with snake-like, with slits for pupils in his eyes, and Tom could only see his thin nostrils for his nose. Was this hideous man the most feared Dark wizard? Was this man, descended from Salazar Slytherin, Lord Voldemort? "You see," the Voldemort beside Tom said calmly, "what Potter's blood could do to me? It can kill me… and it can also resurrect me. Do you realize what a danger he is to us both?"

"No," said Tom. "I'm only a boy, Voldemort. I'm not a killer," he continued, turning to his older self. "I don't understand. Why did you do it?"

Voldemort smiled. "No, Tom. That is not your question. Your question is… why did _we _do it?"

"No!" he shouted. "I'm not you! You're just another criminal who's sadistic and… and… someone who just wants the world to himself! I can change my fate, and you're already past!"

This time, Voldemort's smile faded into a grimace. "You don't understand… Thomas," he snarled, "the pain that I went through alone in this world. The injustice I suffered! I wanted to take control, only to provide a better future for the later generations. I knew you would come, and I _know_, Tom, that you live only because you are my second chance at taking control of this world, to change it, to rebuild it…" The scene faded and changed into a large house, the lights still lit.

"I kill only when necessary, Tom," he said.

"Then why did Harry Potter come after _you_, if you were trying to _change _the wizarding world?"

Voldemort turned to the house as the hooded figure standing at the doorstep unlocked the door. "This is what I must show you, and there is a perfectly good reason behind it." They followed the hooded figure into the house.

A man stood up to confront this other Voldemort, and quickly told his wife, "Lily, take Harry and go!" Tom instantly recognized the man from his nightmare, and the woman as well. "They were raising him to kill me," Voldemort accused, watching as the Dark wizard killed James Potter. "They wanted to oppose my plan… and so, resulted in the deaths of many others trying to protect Harry Potter."

"That's enough, I've seen it before!" shouted Tom, backing away in terror. "I don't want to see anymore!"

Voldemort chuckled darkly as their surroundings faded into the background, leaving them in a blank space. Everywhere Tom looked, it was white, and it seemed to be never ending. "Don't you understand, Tom? _They _are the evil ones. _They _seek to kill me, because they have evil in their hearts," Voldemort said softly, kneeling down so that he was only slightly shorter than Tom.

"No I don't," Tom said. "It's wrong."

"They are wrong, Tom," urged Voldemort, feeling his patience running thin. "Because of a Muggle, my mother died in vain. He ruined her life, and now, we must take revenge."

"My mom… my… my mom was killed?"

"No, Tom," whispered Voldemort, his eyes turning increasingly gentle, and his voice persuasive. "Tom Riddle Senior left her when she was having us, their baby. He left her with nothing to her name, and he left her with no regrets. That is why I hold this everlasting rage against the Muggles. That is why I seek to exterminate every single Muggle, for what our father did to our mother. Don't you feel the pain? If Riddle Senior hadn't left Merope, we would still have a happy family. You never had a family, have you?"

Tom shook his head. "That's right. We never had a family, because of the Muggle that was our father. Muggles are foolish, absent-minded creatures. They do not deserve to live," Voldemort said, smiling slightly when he saw obvious anger rising in Tom's eyes.

"Why did he leave her?" he demanded, clenching his fists.

"Because he thought we were monsters," said Voldemort, and, as if adding fuel to fire, continued, "Which he and the rest of the Muggle world had already confirmed us as monsters… _freaks_." His expression turned to sadness, something he could not have done if it weren't for his plan to turn the boy. The turn of events causing Tom Riddle to be reborn again was… shocking. Voldemort had felt exhilarated when he first saw Albus Potter through the eyes of this young Riddle.

Tom scowled. "That's not true! Didn't you see how poor Merope – my mother – was? She… she loved him! _He's _the monster!!" he yelled. Voldemort smiled even wider now, his face filled with a victorious smile. "That's right. Muggles ruin us wizards and witches, because they give birth to Squibs and half-bloods. They're like a parasite, and soon, our wizard blood will be stained with the dirty blood of Muggles… mudbloods."

Voldemort could see the confusion in Tom's face, and held his wrist firmly. "Believe me, Tom. I only seek to do good in this world," he said. "But I am only a part of your soul, and only you make the decision. Would you like to avenge your mother for her wrongful death?"

Tom bit his lower lip. He felt disappointed in his father for leaving his mother… he felt angry at his father for landing him in a life where there was no one to love him… and most of all, he felt disgusted at the thought of him being a half-blood… at the thought of being someone who was ruined just because of one foolish and stupid Muggle. Voldemort smiled when Tom looked up at him, the same angry expression that was identical to his own, and said only one word.

"Yes."

* * *

Over the next few months, Tom Riddle had slowly learnt to drop the matter of Voldemort altogether, and decided to give up chasing Slughorn for the explanation Voldemort had already given him. He grew over the months in knowledge, and he had scored almost full marks for every other test the teachers had given them. Besides gaining more knowledge, Tom also grew to hate the Muggles studying in Hogwarts as well. He realized that there were a whole lot of them mostly in Gryffindor – _his _House, but Tom could care less. He also made friends with a few Slytherins, much to the dislike of Albus and Delilah, until one fine Sunday evening Albus approached Tom lounging about in the Gryffindor common room.

"I don't understand," Albus said with an exasperated tone. "_Why _do you keep hanging out with those _Slytherins_?" Tom looked up from the fireplace and stared back at Albus with a jeering face. "Just because they're Slytherins doesn't mean they don't deserve to have friends, Al. You know that, right? They're like us, too. Wizards, witches," he retorted, folding his arms.

"But they bully people," Albus said, "Like Goyle and Crabbe. Besides, you injured Goyle once; how could he even stand the sight of you now?"

Tom chuckled. "He's only forced to because of Scorpius. Scorpius isn't too bad a guy, and he's most certainly not _evil_. They bully people who deserve to get bullied."

"Like who?" challenged Albus. "Muggles and Squibs," Tom replied. "They're not worthy of studying in Hogwarts."

"But you were okay with them at first! Now you treat them like they're some sort of scum!"

Tom stood up. "Well, they _are _scum! They're not like _us_, Al. They're not pure-blooded wizards! They're Muggles – people who don't know magic like we do!" he said loudly, glaring angrily at Albus. Why couldn't he see the impurity of the Muggles?

"They're still our friends," said Albus, his voice lowering. "And _you're _a half-blood, Tom."

Tom clenched his fist. "So what," he said, "if I am a half-blood? It was only because of my stupid Muggle father who ruined me and my mother!" Albus stared blankly at Tom. "But you said you never knew your family. How come you know so much?" he asked curiously. "Somebody who knew them well told me about them through a letter," he replied, knowing very well that Albus could see through his lie.

"Where's the letter?"

"I'm not going to show it to you," muttered Tom, glaring at the ground.

"Come on, Tom!" demanded Albus.

"No! I threw it away! I don't want to keep that letter!" shouted Tom, this time, his glare intensified and was directed at Albus.

"Why not?!" said Albus, fuming. "Because it told me how my father left my mother," Tom said quietly. "I don't want to keep such a memory in my head, Al."

There was a long silence between the two, before Albus broke it. "Okay, fine," he said, defeated. "I'm sorry for shouting at you like that." Tom remained silent for a while longer, before looking back up at Albus and saying, "I know they're our friends, but they can only remain as that. They're not like you and me, Al."

"What are we?" asked Albus, slightly confused by Tom's words.

Tom smiled faintly, concealing his hidden anger and replacing it with sincerity. "Best friends," he said. Tom knew he meant it, but he could not refrain from being angry at Albus. He would just leave the argument at that, and hopefully, one day, Albus would realize how horrible Muggles were. "Best friends?" repeated Albus, eyes widening.

"Yeah," said Tom. "I guess I've been with you long enough… and… I guess I could trust you." No, that was a lie. Tom couldn't possible tell Albus about his meetings with Voldemort, and what he had seen through the Dark wizard's memories. No… he would not tell Albus until the time was right.

* * *

"What should we tell the boy, Minerva?" asked Slughorn.

McGonagall shook her head. "I don't know, Horace. The boy could very well be just _him_, but I could never be too sure," she replied, feeling her hands trembling slightly. Slughorn sighed. "He's been trying to hold me back after Potions recently, but he stopped all of a sudden. You don't think…?"

"Many things are possible with what Tom Riddle has experienced, and with the power of Voldemort having been that strong… I don't want to doubt anything," she said. Dumbledore coughed lightly from his portrait, and interjected, "Perhaps, Voldemort had a way."

"What way?" asked Slughorn, turning to the portrait.

Dumbledore had a troubled look on his face as he said, "Perhaps… the soul of Voldemort remains in Tom Riddle, but this Riddle may be exactly like him, but he has no memory of his evil… perhaps it is only another being of the Tom Riddle that lived over thirty years ago, but a different one at the same time. Voldemort's soul may well have been drifting somewhere else off this world… and stumbled upon Mr. Riddle's soul. Magic can do many things, and I do not wish to exclude any opinion."

The two professors remained silent, pondering over Dumbledore's words.

"What must we do, Albus?" McGonagall asked.

Dumbledore shook his head. "Nothing, if there is no trouble coming from Mr. Riddle. I believe, if he is the other side of Voldemort, he may have a choice. It is his life, after all. It only depends on him, whether there will be another Dark wizard arising again."

"But I don't understand," Slughorn said. "I thought when Harry had killed Voldemort, his Horcruxes were already gone?"

Dumbledore shook his head yet again. "I am afraid I may have been terribly inaccurate, and I know that nobody knows magic well enough to know what can happen to the dead… and the living. Keep an eye on Mr. Riddle, Minerva, Horace," Dumbledore said. "I am curious to know how Tom came back again, as well as you two are."

Slughorn sighed and turned back to McGonagall. "I can't say 'm not afraid," he said simply, before standing up. "Goodnight, Minerva." McGonagall watched Slughorn leave the office, and leaned back against her chair, worried and anxious. What would happen if Tom Riddle regained memories of his other self? What would he do? Would Harry Potter be able to save them again, without being the Chosen One?

* * *

Back in Godric's Hollow, Harry Potter felt a slight sting at the top of his forehead. He frowned and reached up to touch his scar again, which pricked yet again. He gasped; his scar had not pained for twenty years, and yet… he felt as if Voldemort had returned again. He shook his head and sighed. It was only his imagination, he decided.

"What is it?" Ginny asked, looking at Harry from across the dining table. Lily was looking at her father with a curious expression. "Nothing," he replied. "I'm fine."

_I think, that if you return, there is a chance that he may be finished for good. I cannot promise it. But know this, Harry, that you have less to fear from returning here than he does._

Dumbledore's voice echoed in his head, and Harry began to grow paranoid. _I cannot promise it._ Dumbledore couldn't promise the fact that Voldemort would be gone for good. Did that mean that once again, Harry would have to fight Thomas Marvolo Riddle again?

And then, the soft voice rang in his ears again.

_Neither can live while the other survives._

_It's like a never ending circle, _Harry thought with much worry.

* * *

Chapter 5, complete! Yeah~

Next chapter: Slughorn's Advice


	6. Chapter 6

New Blood: Return of Tom Riddle

Chapter Six

Slughorn's Advice

**Author's Note: **_Hey all. Thanks for the reviews, once again, and being such faithful readers! Yes, Tom has spiraled down the path of Lord Voldemort, but don't worry, it's not the end of him! He's amazing and all (this… coming from a HP fan of course :P), and I'm not letting him die a second time, no! There's a sequel –gasps- I said too much. Okay, whatever, it's on my profile already. This one's a short chapter._

* * *

Horace Slughorn sat in his dimly lit office, staring into space. Deep inside his head, memories of Tom Riddle flooded back into his head, and he had tried to compare the Tom he knew then to the Tom he knew now. It was uncanny, seeing as how calm and collected Tom always had been, and how his mood changes abruptly every second, and how he never seemed to be able to predict Tom's decisions carefully. He couldn't believe himself when he had told Tom all about Horcruxes – it was like giving him the plan itself! Slughorn could never seem to stop reproaching himself for his foolish mistake.

Now he felt determined to help Tom, to make sure that he remained a good wizard; a good Gryffindor student, although it would have been easier if Tom had been put in Slytherin. The Hat must have known that Tom was the same boy many decades ago, and decided that it was best to try a different approach, to put him in the Gryffindor House. Slughorn didn't even know what was going on with Tom right now, and for all he knew, Tom might have already found out about who he was. _But that can't be true, he's only eleven! He couldn't possibly remember something that happened before he appeared! But Dumbledore said that no one understood magic well enough to assume… _

Slughorn let out a sigh. He was tired, and utterly confused. Sometimes he regretted agreeing to return to Hogwarts again as the Potions Master, and this was one of those times. He looked out the window: it was raining heavily, and Slughorn could feel it dampening his spirits. He would resign, he decided, after all of this finally blows over. He had enough of this crazy job he's been holding on to, just for the sake of Dumbledore. Well, right after Tom Riddle leaves Hogwarts, Slughorn would leave immediately, to enjoy his retirement.

Or perhaps after he makes sure Tom doesn't become Voldemort again.

_Teaching at Hogwarts has never been this stressing before, _Slughorn mused. _Perhaps I should talk to Tom after all… to make sure he's safe. _He looked out the window again and sighed. The gloomy sky outside made it look like it was already in the evening, but Slughorn knew perfectly well that it was only the mid-afternoon. He looked back down at a Potions essay, which incidentally, was Tom's. He could only gape at the boy's marvelous knowledge and hard work that he had probably put into this subject, just like a few decades before, when the very same boy aced every single of his Potions assignments.

Suddenly, there was a slight knock against his door that startled Slughorn. "Come in," he said, his heart still pounding slightly. In walked Tom Riddle, smiling pleasantly at Slughorn. _Oh no, _he thought, feeling as though he would panic at any moment. "Professor Slughorn," greeted Tom, and without a word from Slughorn, sat down in front of him. This was very much like the time when Slughorn told Tom about Horcruxes, but the only differences were that Tom was sixteen at the time, and he had potential Death Eaters surrounding him.

"Hello, Tom, what brings you here?" asked Slughorn, smiling faintly. Tom seemed to hesitate for a moment; would Slughorn still remember Voldemort as he was? "I was only wondering…" he began, not knowing what to ask. "…did you know Voldemort personally?" Tom knew that if Slughorn had said no, it would be lying. Voldemort had shown him all of his past memories during the months, and Tom was perfectly confident that Slughorn would not lie to him. _He's already so afraid of me, _thought Tom, suppressing a smirk.

"Why do you ask that question, Tom?" Slughorn asked, growing a little more suspicious by the minute.

"I was just thinking… I've… had dreams of sorts, of you talking to me about things I don't remember," said Tom, watching Slughorn's face drain of all color. "I was wondering if that was him, sir." Slughorn swallowed hard. Now the boy was having dreams of Voldemort's memories? This was going to be harder than he thought at all. Slughorn cleared his throat and answered, "Yes, Tom. I taught him here once, like I teach you now." He could see the interest rise in Tom's eyes, and he knew that he had made the wrong move.

"Am I Voldemort?" Tom asked, his eyes filled with burning interest. "No, Tom," Slughorn said. "I don't believe you are."

"Why not?" demanded Tom. "He's speaking to me, sir. He keeps telling me he's _me_."

"A Dark wizard," Slughorn explained, "always attempts to turn innocent people into his followers. Voldemort knows you are vulnerable, Tom, and he will stop at nothing to bring you over to his side. It is not wise to follow his words, whatever he has said." The fear in Slughorn's voice was inescapable.

Other than wanting to see how much Slughorn feared Voldemort, Tom had also wanted to know if Slughorn knew of the risk he was taking if he didn't at least _try _to persuade Tom to refrain from listening. He also wanted to know whether Voldemort was lying to him or not. It wouldn't work, but Tom was merely deceiving him. "He… he showed me my mother."

The fake hesitation in his voice clearly aroused Slughorn. "Your _mother_?" he repeated, aghast. "Yeah… her name was… I think, Merope," Tom said. Slughorn nearly jumped out of his seat. It was true, then! Voldemort was talking to the boy sitting in front of him! "What else did he say to you?" breathed the Potions Master.

"So you believe me, then?" asked Tom, his eyes growing wide.

"Tom, I have always believed you. Magic knows no bounds," he said, "Even in death."

Tom's expression changed one filled with strong curiosity. "Professor, you haven't explained what's going on," said Tom, his voice rudely demanding. Slughorn sighed. "Tom, I can only tell you that you're in a dangerous situation," he said quietly. "Voldemort wants you for something, and he's probably thinking of coming back to life through you!"

"But I don't understand," muttered Tom, "Why me?"

Slughorn could not find the words to answer Tom's question. "He's me, isn't he?" asked Tom. "_Tell the truth._" Tom's voice sounded almost like that of Voldemort's – demanding and full of authority. With much hesitation, Slughorn nodded. "I'm afraid he is," he replied.

"So it's true then?" Tom pressed on, "Whatever he said to me… it's all true?"

The Potions Master felt his heart skip a beat. This boy must never fall to Voldemort's words! As far as Horace Slughorn could remember, Thomas Riddle had – if Slughorn could have used that word to describe Voldemort – _unearthly _powers of persuasion. The young Voldemort had charmed so many students into becoming his followers – _Death Eaters _– in the beginning, and Slughorn had already begun to doubt Voldemort a little at that point, but he was Slughorn's best student, and oh, Slughorn could only slap himself for being a teacher that usually was biased towards his students.

"Tom," he said, "I don't want you listening to Voldemort. He is evil, Tom, and evil wizards come to no good end. I do not wish to see you throwing away what you have now, just because you feel that you deserve what you had then." Hopefully, it would be good enough to steer Tom out of his dilemma and give him a bright future. "This advice is coming from a man who taught Voldemort, Tom, and I know of every person he killed. He is dangerous, and you'd do well to ignore his words. I don't think he can harm you…" Slughorn's voice faded away as Voldemort's voice infiltrated Tom's head.

_He's lying. He's trying to turn you away from your rightful destiny._

_I don't know. He sounds like he desperately wants me away from you._

_You have already pledged yourself to our true goal… do not disappoint me._

_I won't. I won't just leave my vengeance untouched._

_Very good, _Voldemort hissed. _Have you heard enough?_

Tom thought for a moment, before replying, _I guess so. _Whatever Slughorn had said, Tom believed that it was just pure desperation to turn him away from everything Voldemort knew was _right_. "Alright, sir," he said, cutting Slughorn off. He smiled at his Potions Master and Head of House and drawled, "I know what I have to do, and I won't listen to Voldemort. I just wanted to verify a few things… and I will seek your help if I need any, sir."

Slughorn smiled warmly at the child, but was slightly troubled at his sudden decision to stop Slughorn from speaking. He watched as Tom stood up, gave one final nod of the head, and left his office. He sighed with relief; it was all over, he hoped. Tom would never have to kill another innocent soul again.

* * *

Over the next few days, it had already begun to snow lightly. Christmas was approaching, and everyone was excited to head back home for the holidays, except Tom Riddle. He knew he had nowhere to go back to, and Voldemort had urged him to train his mind, to prevent his mind from being probed – especially from McGonagall, who had still kept a close eye on Tom, and Voldemort believed that she, being an accomplished witch, could use Legilimency on Tom at any time. This had proved to be true when one afternoon, during lunch, while Tom was sitting with Albus, he felt a slight probe at his mind. He cautiously turned to glance at McGonagall, and found that she was staring straight at him.

He closed his mind – Voldemort had trained him well enough to use Occlumency, but he wasn't as skilled – easily, as McGonagall had only _tried _to delve _lightly_ into his head, and sighed. "What is it?" asked Albus. "Nothing… I'm just not feeling too good. I'm heading back to the common room. See you later," he said, before standing up and quickly leaving the Great Hall.

McGonagall watched Tom leave the Great Hall in a hurry and set down her fork with a light clatter. Slughorn looked at her and asked, "You didn't just attempt to…?" She nodded curtly, and Slughorn sighed in despair. "I already told you, Minerva, the boy knows what he's doing already," he said calmly. McGonagall shook her head and said, "I don't believe anything he says until I see proof. He knows how to lie, persuade and influence easily, Slughorn. I remember Riddle from over thirty years ago, do you think I don't—"

"I see your point, Minerva. But the fact is, this boy isn't the Riddle we know to be… Voldemort; he's just another boy, without the intention of killing, and without the evil in him. It's his second chance at life – a better life."

"I have learnt not to trust anyone that easily, even if he is eleven," McGonagall said. "We'll see, in time. If, by the end of his education at Hogwarts, Tom Riddle does not pull any tricks, I will perhaps be more reassured." Slughorn could only sigh. He knew that there was no way he could change McGonagall's mind that easily – she was as stubborn as a mule! – so he decided to let it rest… until Tom leaves Hogwarts peacefully.

"Hey Al," James said, "You know, that Tom isn't as nice as I thought." Albus furrowed his brow. "What d'you mean?" he asked. "He's a good friend." James shook his head and leaned forward, so that nobody else at the Gryffindor table would hear him except Albus. "I saw him and Malfoy cornering a first year. They were threatening him about something, I dunno what, but the boy was so afraid he turned as white as a ghost. I walked past them and heard them muttering something about 'dirty blood' to the boy," he explained. "I think you should stay away from Tom."

Albus frowned. "No, I think Tom's come out of it. He…"

"Did he even promise you he'd _stop_, Al?" James asked, his face growing serious.

"No… but I know he wouldn't! Not anymore!" protested Albus. James shook his head. "I knew there was something wrong with him the first time I saw him. He liked Slytherin better than Gryffindor. You'd better be careful who you hang out with, Al," he warned. "Those people who think they're pure-blood – they have no respect for anyone lower them that."

"I already told him," Albus argued, although he knew that he was fighting a losing battle. His older brother was right – Tom had hated Muggles, but terrorizing another first year? It just wasn't right, not at this rate. "I know he won't."

"Whatever, Al," James said, "The thing is, Tom is acting like he's from Slytherin. He and Scorpius – best buds – you know?"

Albus frowned. He felt his whole world crashing – Tom had already said he was _his _best friend, and no one else's. Why would he still hang out with Scorpius, then? "I don't believe that, James," he said. James threw his hands up. "Okay, have it your way. Once he starts doing worse stuff, you'll regret ever knowing him, okay?"

With that, Albus watched his older brother leave the Great Hall with lingering disappointment.

* * *

That night, Albus Potter lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. His mind was still spinning as he realized how unpredictable Tom could actually be. He would talk to Tom tomorrow, and ensure that Tom _swears _that he wouldn't harass the Muggle-borns in school anymore. He didn't understand what his brother had said; how could Tom even _like _the Slytherins, let alone Scorpius Malfoy? He felt lost and troubled, and he needed some reassurance. He would find someone to confide in, but no one really noticed Tom and Scorpius most of the time and they wouldn't really understand how he felt.

Then it hit him. _I'd write to Dad! _Albus thought. _He'd know… he faced worse than this… right? _He sat up straight and quickly reached for his quill and ink, and took out a piece of parchment. He was worried he'd forget tomorrow, or that he wouldn't know what to write after a night's sleep. He bit his lip, and began writing.

When he finished, he reread it again, ensuring that there was nothing left out.

_Dear Dad…_

_I was wondering… what if your best friend was bullying Muggle-borns? My best friend's doing it, and I keep telling him not to, but he doesn't listen. He keeps saying how dirty their blood was, and they're not as good as us. I don't know what to do and he keeps telling me they're not as good as us… like they're some dirt in our path! I need help, Dad._

_Love,_

_Albus_

He thought it sounded pretty hopeless – but that's what he was right now: hopeless. He set the letter aside, and put a paperweight on top of it. He would send it tomorrow evening, when he had the time. After glancing at his sleeping friend, Albus drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

**Author's Note: **

_Chapter Six, finished!_

_I'm not exactly pleased with it, but after this whole story is completed, I'll edit every mistake and make sure it follows the timeline well. Ah, then after that I shall start on my *gags*!_

_Well, you all know there's one._

Voldemort: I don't understand, why does ALBUS have to get in the way of my devious scheme?!

Author: Well, it's my story, and I control your every movement, Voldemort. I may just make you give up.

Voldemort: NEVER! D:

Author: There's a sequel. Prepare to meet your doom, Voldy!

Voldemort: NOOOOO!

Albus: Wait, wait. There's a sequel?!

Author: Uh, yeah. Got a problem with that?

Albus: YES! I mean – no. I meant, YES! THERE'S A SEQUEL!

Author: Right. Into the fiction, go on, where you belong. Reality is harsher than your world. *evil grin*

_This was a short chapter, but I guess it'll get better the next chapter. Tom and Scorpius pick on a certain Muggle, and Albus confronts them. Ah, SPOILERS! *watches the reader cover his ears*_

_Okay, see you next time._


	7. Chapter 7

New Blood: Return of Tom Riddle

Chapter Seven

Confrontation

**Author's Notes: **_Hello! Sorry this took so long, a few problems cropped up in life and I had to put this on hold for a while, but I'm back! Thanks for the constructive reviews and encouraging ones, I'll be sure to modify the way I write my stories from now on :) Okay, so do enjoy!_

* * *

It was in the late afternoon, and Tom had just come out of Transfiguration. As he walked out the door, a familiar yet dreaded voice could be heard calling him.

"Hey, Riddle," Scorpius called, leaning against the wall. Tom turned his head to look to Scorpius and broke into a small grin.

"Scorpius," he greeted. "What is it this time?"

The blonde shrugged. "Just a Mudblood who needs to be taught a lesson – he thought he had us there when he brought McGonagall to me. I'm not the type to let it go," he said, smirking. Tom sighed.

"I don't have the time, Scorpius," he replied. "I told Albus I'd—"

"Albus?" interrupted Scorpius, his eyes narrowing at Tom. "You mean Potter? What could be possibly more important than teaching a Muggle a lesson?" Tom didn't like the way Scorpius addressed Albus, and stalked up to him. "What about _Potter_, Scorpius?" he retorted, feeling angrier than ever. He did feel torn, however, between what he _needed _to do and what he _wanted _to defend. Scorpius let out a bitter laugh.

"I don't like the sight of Albus Potter. He's sticking to you," said Scorpius. "You'd do well to stay with us – or don't you want to be part of us Slytherins?" Tom glared at Scorpius, feeling the anger rising and burning deep inside him. He gripped his books tighter and suppressed a harsh scowl. _The Muggle cannot wait, Tom, _Voldemort's voice rang within his mind. With much consideration, Tom reluctantly nodded. He would have to explain to Albus _why _he had backed out on him at the last minute – but he was still slightly grateful because he did not want to visit Hagrid again.

"Fine," he said, giving in. "Where is that Muggle, anyways?" Scorpius smiled and patted Tom roughly on his back and nodded towards the corridor leading down to the courtyard. They had walked straight into the courtyard to see Crabbe and Goyle cornering an intimidated boy Tom recognized as John Williams, the boy from Ravenclaw. He was probably aiming to become a prefect, no doubt. Scorpius and Tom approached them.

"Well, well, if it isn't Wilson," Scorpius sneered. "You're one unlucky boy."

"I'll have Professor McGonagall know," retorted Wilson, glaring, "Unless you don't remember the last time she gave you, Crabbe and Goyle detention." Tom couldn't help but to feel impressed by Wilson's ability to stand up to Scorpius Malfoy. He watched as Scorpius' expression change into that of a face distorted with evident rage and anger. Within a split second, Scorpius drew his wand and pointed it at Wilson's chest.

"There are many things you don't know about me," Scorpius snarled, "I would do it over and over again, even if McGonagall knew about it."

"And what do you get out of it?" Wilson asked, still glaring. Despite his firm face, Tom could easily sense his fear. He was nothing but a useless Muggle-born. Scorpius kept his smirk.

"Because you deserve it, and everyone else of your birth," he said. "Nobody like you deserves to study here. Nobody like you even deserves to own a wand." Tom caught Wilson's eye and quickly looked away, wanting Scorpius to get this over with. If there was still time, Tom could still reach Albus and not let him down…

"Hey. Riddle," said Scorpius. Tom looked back up at him.

"What?" he asked, feeling annoyed. Scorpius stood up and stowed his wand away in his pocket and stood next to him.

"Why don't _you _do it?" suggested Scorpius. "You've only watched so far."

Tom sighed again. "I don't have th—"

"No, Riddle. You _have _the time," urged Scorpius. "Or is it because of Potter that you don't want him to know what you've been doing?" Tom glared at Scorpius again, this time, his anger increasing tenfold.

"That's enough! I don't want to hear anything about Potter!" he shouted, and pulled out his wand and pointed it at Wilson. _Do it, _hissed Voldemort. _Use the curse I've taught you._

_No, that's—_

_Are you as weak as I thought you were, Tom Riddle?_

Tom shut Voldemort's voice out. He would not be called weak just because he didn't want to torture anyone. But the small voice at the back of his head told him to go on, that no one would see but Scorpius, Crabbe, and Goyle. The voice pressed on, muttering insults at Tom. They angered Tom greatly.

_You'll never be able to avenge your mother this way, Tom._

_At the rate you're going, you'll only be as good as nothing…_

"_Crucio_!" said Tom, his anger fueling the effect of the Torture Curse. Scorpius' eyes widened in horror as Wilson writhed in pain, letting out gasps and yelps. Even Crabbe and Goyle looked frightened. Tom felt Voldemort's voice flow back into his head again.

_Good, _Voldemort hissed. _You are well on your way, Tom, to becoming what you really are. _Then, another voice shut Voldemort's out.

"What are you doing, Riddle?!" said Scorpius, shoving Tom's hand out of the way. Tom glared at Scorpius and said, "Didn't you want me to do _this_, Scorpius? What are you shouting for? Or are you the weak one, now?" The mockery in his tone was inescapable as Scorpius looked back down at Wilson, who was shivering with fear and looking upon Tom with a terrified look. Before Scorpius could say a word, the voice of Albus Potter removed all hatred and anger from Tom.

"_Tom!_" yelled Albus, running into the courtyard. Behind him were Hagrid and Delilah, both with equally mortified expressions on their faces. Tom turned around, his face filled with shock and slight regret. Again, the voice of Lord Voldemort hissed loudly in his head. _Do not regret, Tom! _But there was no time to listen to Voldemort. He had never seen Albus look so angry… and so disappointed as well. Tom felt slightly ashamed of himself, but could not admit that torturing these Muggle-borns were actually wrong.

"What were you doing to him?" Albus asked. His voice was louder than ever. Tom kept his wand and said nothing. He couldn't find the proper words to phrase his sentence, right after torturing Wilson in the worst way possible. Albus shook Tom hard, causing Tom to feel even worse.

"It was nothing, I—"

"IT WASN'T NOTHING!" he yelled again, and Tom could swear that he had seen tears welling up in Albus' eyes, before Albus quickly rubbed them dry. "I thought you wouldn't." The pleading in Albus' voice was unmistakable. Before Tom could say anything, however, Scorpius beat him to it.

"That's enough of your yelling, Potter!" snarled Scorpius. "If you don't like it, don't butt in!" Tom roughly pulled Scorpius backwards, who had stepped forward in an attempt to intimidate Albus to make him go away.

"Scorpius," Tom said, "Enough." Albus looked from Scorpius to Tom with an accusing look in his eyes. Tom knew what was coming next.

"I thought… I thought we were friends?" Albus muttered. "Not only friends… but… _best_ friends?" Tom couldn't help but feel remorseful at that point. He remembered what he had said to Albus the last time, and felt himself grow even guiltier.

"Albus, we are," he said, placing his hand on Albus' shoulder, only to have it shoved away.

"Don't _lie _to me, Tom," argued Albus. "You like Scorpius better – no, wait – you like _being a Slytherin_, don't you?" Before Tom could reply, Albus walked off, with Delilah rushing after him, leaving Hagrid staring at Tom.

"_WHAT?!_" roared Tom, before storming off in the opposite direction.

* * *

Delilah rushed down the corridor after Albus, realizing how fast he really was at running. She finally caught up with him after speeding up with the last of her remaining energy and pulled him to a stop.

"Albus," she said, panting, "Please just calm down!" Albus pried her hand off his shoulder and let out a scowl. He advanced towards the nearest window and looked out, just for something to do. He wasn't even looking at anything – he was still thinking about Tom, and how he had just easily _tortured _another fellow student! _Of course, _Albus thought shrewdly, _he's a _Muggle_! _Delilah let out an exasperated sigh. Both boys were as stubborn, and all she could do was comfort the one that would listen more _easily_.

"Look, Al, this isn't the end of the world," she said, although she knew how much Tom must have meant to Albus to have him so angry right now. "I know Tom's guilty. I could see it."

"But that doesn't… that doesn't explain _why _he still did it! I thought he wouldn't… not anymore… best friends…" Albus found himself muttering useless words, and heard his own voice shaking as he said it all. Delilah patted him lightly on his back and found tears rolling down his cheeks freely, even though Albus never made a sound.

"I'm sure he's sorry now," she said. "It's so terrible of him to do it, anyway…"

"I don't care," whispered Albus. "I _hate _him." Delilah looked at Albus with a worried expression. The hatred in his voice was inescapable.

"You don't, Al, no matter what you say," she said gently. Albus shook his head in defiance. He seemed determined to make Delilah see how much he _hated _Tom Riddle right now.

"You saw what he did, right?" he asked, turning to Delilah. She nodded her head – Tom had used Dark magic on Wilson, and it certainly frightened her as much as Albus had been. He shook his head and turned back to the window again.

"Just go talk to him."

Albus shook his head. He wouldn't just go up to Tom now, not when he had just seen Tom torture another boy. It was revolting, and he felt disgusted as well. How could Tom even dare to do that? He figured that James was right about him. He'd stop talking to Tom and turn to better friends. He put his hands in his pockets and sighed.

"He's not my friend anymore," said Albus finally. Delilah knew she couldn't persuade Albus out of his decision, and decided that it was best for the two to settle it by themselves.

* * *

Tom stormed into the Gryffindor common room, his mind filled with Albus' face, filled with sadness… disappointment… anger. He paced the common room up and down, feeling overwhelmed with his feelings directed toward himself. He felt obliged to do what he had done, and he would not admit that it was wrong. But having angered Albus to this extent, Tom felt even worse about himself. But what was he to do, if Albus couldn't understand and see the reason why he was doing it? _You like being a Slytherin, don't you? _Albus' strained voice echoed in Tom's head. Another voice had risen this time, and it was one filled with anger. _Do you regret it, _Voldemort asked. Tom sighed. There were times when he had spoken aloud to Voldemort, and this was one of those times.

"No," he replied, "but didn't you see the look on Albus' face?" Voldemort let out a hiss as he appeared in front of Tom – the young, handsome face gone, only to be replaced by that of the snake-like Voldemort Tom had seen in his flashbacks. Tom felt the same anger Voldemort did, and knew the reason why. He had spared the Muggle because of Albus, and because of that, he knew that Voldemort felt that Tom wasn't good enough at all.

"You have almost failed me," he hissed. "But you have used the Cruciatus Curse on our young Muggle friend… I cannot blame you entirely… it was your first time…" Tom watched as Voldemort paced up and down the common room, apparently thinking about something. He was probably going to ask Tom to do it again…

Voldemort turned to Tom and asked, "How did you feel? When you tortured him?" Tom merely shrugged.

"It felt normal. But I was a bit—"

"—intimidated by his pathetic little gasps of pain? You are weaker than I thought. I will have none of it, for I was not as weak as you were, Tom," Voldemort hissed again, his red eyes burning with sheer anger and mockery. Tom glared back up at Voldemort, his fists tightening.

"Look, I'm only ELEVEN! Do you expect me to _kill _somebody when I'm eleven?! I'm not you, Voldemort! I'm… I'm not as… I'm not you…" Tom's voice faded as he found himself to become speechless. He was confused again, like he had been months before. Voldemort grimaced.

"You _are _me, and you always will be, because of have my blood… you have Salazar Slytherin's blood in you," he said calmly, although the anger in his voice wasn't entirely hidden. "We are pure, Tom."

Tom refused to give in, and he quickly made his way up to the dormitory, only to find Voldemort sitting on his bed, with the same grimace.

"Your friend has written a letter to his father," Voldemort said. "To Harry Potter, and he will want to stop you again, if he finds out who you are." Tom looked at Albus' bedside table, and found a letter pressed down onto the table by a paperweight. He removed it and picked up the letter. After reading, Tom lowered the letter and put it back onto the table. He frowned and sighed at Albus' sheer vulnerability. He was so weak… and yet… he seemed headstrong all the time…

"It's because of you, Tom that he had wanted to write to his father… for _reassurance_… for _comfort_. He wanted to believe that you weren't evil."

Tom looked back down at the letter and shook his head. "I won't be," he said. Voldemort sighed in exasperation.

"I don't want to start this conversation again, Thomas," growled Voldemort, his voice growing more serious, and much darker than ever. Tom glared at him; angry at the way Voldemort assumed him to be evil. He knew he possibly couldn't, and this was all an imagination. Yes… this was all in his head. Voldemort seemed to read his mind and sighed again.

"Tom, I am part of you. What part of that don't you understand?"

"I don't want to kill," replied Tom. "It's wrong."

"It's right," argued Voldemort. "I sense your confusion, Tom. In time, you will learn, and you will understand."

"But Albus…"

"Potter is none of your concern," Voldemort hissed again. "He would do well to stay out of your affairs."

When Tom didn't say anything, Voldemort stood up and glided through the bed to stop beside Tom. "Tear up the letter, Tom," he commanded. Tom looked up at Voldemort, frowning like he always did.

"Why?" he asked. Voldemort crouched down so that he was almost the same height as Tom.

"He will learn to understand, and we wouldn't want his father interfering like the last time, remember?" Voldemort said, reminding Tom of the flashbacks of Harry Potter defeating Voldemort time and time again. Tom sighed and nodded. He picked up the letter and crushed it in his hands.

"If I were you, I'd throw it away."

"No. I'm going to talk to him," Tom said. "I won't have it any other way, Voldemort."

Voldemort smiled. The authority in Tom's voice was growing, and he knew that Tom was on his former path. And this time, there would be no more slip-ups.

* * *

"Albus, listen to me."

"No."

"You _have _to listen. Please," pleaded Tom. The last word he said seemed to make Albus listen. He turned around reluctantly, his face blank.

"What is it?" asked Albus, not wanting to give in easily. Tom bit his lip and said, "I'm sorry." Albus let out a bitter laugh.

"Do you think that's really going to work?" he fired back, even though he knew, deep down inside, that he had already wanted to forgive Tom in the first place. Tom shrugged.

"Maybe… I can always try again and again," he said with a smirk. "But I'm sorry, okay? I… I won't do it again." Albus' face hardened.

"How do I know you aren't lying?" Albus demanded, wanting more than just an apology from Tom. He wanted to believe that Tom was serious this time, and that he was sincerely sorry.

Tom's smirk changed into a gentle, yet handsome smile. "I'm not, Al. And I'm not aiming to become a Slytherin; I'm already in a House I like," he said, his tone soft and persuasive. "I know what I did was wrong… I'll drop it, okay?" _That's not a very smart way of doing things, _Voldemort mocked inside his head. _Shut up, I know what I'm doing. It doesn't mean I'm going to stop just because I don't punish Muggles in Hogwarts. _Voldemort chuckled.

"You sure?" asked Albus.

Tom nodded. "Positive," he said. "I… I promise."

Albus smiled a little, and nodded too. "And I assure you, Al, I'm not best friends with Scorpius. I'm _your _best friend, remember?" Albus smiled wider this time, and nodded again.

"Yeah, okay."

That night, Albus slept with a smile, although he knew that he really couldn't sleep at all. Tom's words still rang in his ears constantly, causing him to become happier and happier by the second. _If this keeps up, I'm never going to get to sleep._

In his happiness, Albus forgot all about his letter to Harry.

_I'm your best friend, remember? _Tom's voice echoed.

_Yeah, _Albus thought. _My best friend… yeah. Mine, and not anyone else's._

* * *

I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. DO REVIEW!

Hmm, my friend has figured out something from this story... hopefully you guys can too.


	8. Chapter 8

New Blood: Return of Tom Riddle

Chapter Eight

Christmas

**Author's Note: **_Ah, finally, the second last chapter. I know nine chapters are too short, but the sequel will be much longer. This is like, a sort of appetizer before the meal… ha! Yeah, so, enjoy. I'm so sorry to make this so short, but I will work on the sequel immediately after I finish! _

* * *

The days soon passed fast as Albus and Tom's friendship grew, and soon, it came to Christmas, and Albus had to return home for the holidays. Tom had nowhere to go – he didn't want to go anywhere, for that matter – and decided to stay in Hogwarts for the holidays. Scorpius was leaving too; a relief for Tom. However, he wouldn't spend the holidays alone, doing nothing at all. Voldemort had plans for him, and it was something Tom Riddle had never expected. Voldemort had wanted Tom to understand more about himself – or rather, themselves – and had told him to talk to Horace Slughorn again. This time, however, Tom would have to be extra careful and much more persuasive. Tom reluctantly agreed, and decided that he would corner Slughorn that night.

He watched Albus drag his trunk onto the Hogwarts Express with much dread. He was going to be lonelier than ever once Albus was gone, and all he could do then was to listen to Voldemort's every command. It was stupid and tiring as well.

"Bye, Tom! See you after Christmas!" Albus yelled, as the train began to pick up speed. Tom felt the urge to run after the train, to follow Albus until it was impossible to continue, but he decided not to. He waved back at Albus with a faint smile as his best friend beamed at him with the most excited look on his face. And yet, Tom could see the slight sadness in his friend's face for leaving him here alone for Christmas.

Once the train was out of sight, Tom turned around and headed back up to the castle. He felt much worse now, without another friend to speak to, but he knew he had a job. Before even stepping into Hogwarts, however, he was interrupted by Hagrid.

"Tom!" called Hagrid, advancing towards the first year with large steps. Tom looked at Hagrid with annoyance in his eyes. It was as if he needed a distraction right now.

"What is it?" asked Tom, not bothering to wave back or even smile in the least. Hagrid had that same uncertain look in his eyes, and there was the same, obvious and pathetic fear in his eyes after witnessing Tom use the Cruciatus Curse on Wilson. Hagrid seemed to be deciding whether he should continue to talk to Tom, or just walk away. After what seemed like forever, Hagrid finally mustered the courage to speak up.

"I'm jus' warnin' yeh, Tom…" Hagrid said slowly, "The Cruciatus Curse… is dangerous. I know what yeh used to be." Tom glared silently at Hagrid. How could he even _assume _he knew him? Voldemort spoke within him. _He knows us, Tom. Do not push him away. He may be of help some other time… a fool like him! _

"I know what I'm doing, Hagrid," said Tom. "I won't do it again. You saw how devastated Albus was. And I'm _not _Voldemort. He's just… speaking to me. I realized what I did was wrong, okay?" His tone changed completely – from that filled with anger to a tone dripping with fake gentleness. His persuasive voice made it hard for Hagrid to even doubt him, even though his words didn't seem to sway him completely. The gamekeeper was seemingly relieved from Tom's statement, and nodded slowly. But there was still a hint of doubt in his eyes; Tom couldn't blame him entirely anyway.

"Okay. Make sure o' tha', Tom," Hagrid said warningly. Tom sighed and nodded lazily.

"I know what I'm doing, alright?" With that, Tom stormed off, wanting to accomplish his next task fast. But even if he had, Voldemort, he knew, would have more plans for him this Christmas holiday. Hagrid stared at Tom, his eyes still fixated on the dark-haired boy moving away into the castle. He sighed and shook his head. Voldemort would not promise anything to anyone that easily, but there was much to fear from Tom. Hagrid knew that something was wrong with Tom after he had seen him perform the Cruciatus Curse…

There could only be one person he could tell now. Minerva McGonagall.

He turned back to the castle and quickly made for the Headmistress' office. Along the way, his heart pounded furiously for fear that there would be yet another Lord Voldemort – and this time, there was no prophecy or the Chosen One. Harry Potter had done his part; now who was to say he doesn't have to return to fight the Dark Lord again? He knocked on the large double doors, and heard McGonagall's faint voice from inside.

"Come in," she answered. Hagrid opened the doors and surprised McGonagall.

"Hagrid – what's the problem?" she asked, sensing panic.

"Tom," he said simply. McGonagall narrowed her eyes. What could he have done this time, to get Rubeus Hagrid this anxious?

"What of Tom, Hagrid?" she urged. Hagrid's eyes showed immense fear and anxiety – a sign McGonagall took clearly.

"He… he used the Cruciatus Curse on another b-boy," Hagrid said. Before McGonagall could reply, another familiar, yet snide voice piped up.

"_Preposterous!_" said Phineas Nigellus. "A mere boy of eleven – use the Cruciatus Curse on another? Impossible!" Hagrid shook his head frantically.

"It's true!" he argued. "I saw him do it – I can even get the boy here!"

McGonagall stared at Hagrid in shock and horror. Tom Riddle used the Cruciatus Curse? It was like falling into a nightmare – but this time, it was as real as it could ever get.

"Was the boy a Muggle-born?" she asked her voice frail and shaking. Hagrid looked at her – Phineas fell silent and decided to ignore the two after a short and heated argument with Hagrid – and nodded solemnly. She gasped and looked to Dumbledore for advice. He had the same look of calm, but there was an overwhelming amount of emotion in his bright, piercing blue eyes – anger, fear, anxiety and disappointment.

"I was wrong," he said quietly, "to have thought that Harry could defeat him once and for all."

"No one could have been more confident, Albus," said McGonagall, "it was only a matter of time. Anything's possible now. We all knew this."

"What are we gonna do?" asked Hagrid, addressing Dumbledore more than McGonagall.

Dumbledore sighed. Even he did not know what to do – he only hoped that this boy would not learn of Horcruxes like the last time, or even begin to kill anyone innocent. He felt helpless now, and he knew that Harry would have to come back and assist Hogwarts once more, just like twenty years ago.

"We have to inform Harry," he said, his eyes gazing somewhere else other than at Hagrid or McGonagall. "This terrifying turn of events will shake the wizarding world again."

"What do we do, for now?" asked McGonagall.

Dumbledore pursed his lips and furrowed his brows.

"We watch him even closer now."

* * *

Albus Potter leaped off the train, following his cousins and brother towards their parents who were waiting patiently, with bright smiles on their faces. Albus and James advanced towards Harry, Ginny and Lily.

"Hey kiddos," greeted Harry as the two boys approached them. The other Weasleys were with Ron and Hermione; they would take their nieces and nephews back to George along the way home. "How was school?" he asked Albus and James.

"It's fine," Albus replied. "I can't wait to tell you about all the new friends I met, and the new stuff I learnt there and…"

"Okay, okay," laughed Harry, "we'll go home and listen to you all day long. What about you, James?"

The older brother of the two shrugged. "Same old school year," he said. Ginny laughed.

"Same old meaning troublemaking, I presume?" she teased. James grimaced and sighed, shaking his head. His mother would always say that, and he had gotten used to it, but he was still a little annoyed by her assumptions – even though they were true.

Lily, however, seemed to be the most excited one of them all.

"How was Hogwarts like? Were the teachers scary? Are the subjects hard?" she asked Albus – James had walked off first in annoyance. She had done the exact same thing last year, and he wasn't going to answer her questions again with the same answers.

"Okay, kids, we'll talk back home. We have to get home in time for lunch, remember?" Harry interrupted, checking his watch. He glanced at Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, who both grinned back at him happily. "Oh, and uh, we're having a get together with Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione. Oh – and George and Angelina as well. You know, like last year's?" he added sheepishly, upon realizing that he had forgotten all about it after he had seen Albus and James.

"Cool," James said, already excited at the thought of causing _more _trouble back at home with his cousins. "Will Teddy be joining us?"

"Oh, of course," Ginny said. "Don't think I don't know what you're planning, James Sirius Potter!" Again, James grimaced.

"Let's go – we can talk later on," said Harry impatiently. "If not they'll be staying for dinner after missing lunch."

The five Potters laughed and headed through the magical barrier of Platform 9 ¾.

* * *

That afternoon, the Weasley family made their way to Godric's Hollow by Portkey, and managed to settle down by three in the afternoon, much to Harry and Ginny's dislike.

"Alright, alright!" yelled Harry in exasperation as his children and his nieces and nephews were still chatting away profusely. Even Ron and Hermione didn't seem to mind at all; they were just about as engrossed in standing outside the house to admire the statue of James, Lily and Harry outside as their children were in talking. Harry began to think that it wasn't only the statue that got them so drawn to the outside. It was quiet, noiseless – a perfect place for a married couple to murmur sweet nothings to each other. He shuddered and folded his arms, not wanting to think about what they would even say out there. "I think _somebody _has to be hungry around here!"

At that instant, all heads turned to Harry.

"All ready, now, are we?" he sighed. Ginny smiled, finally relieved that the noise was over. Having too many children in the house could cause one a serious migraine.

After a long time in preparing the food, the whole table was occupied by everyone. Halfway through the meal, Harry suddenly remembered something. He looked at Albus and asked, "So how was school?"

"It's cool," he said, imitating his brother's choice of words, annoying him. James kicked Albus' foot again, but this time, everyone felt the vibration – due to James who used a bit too much force.

"James, you will _not _kick your brother ever again," Harry said sternly, trying his best to hide his amused grin. Sometimes, the two brothers could be so alike in many ways.

Albus grinned sheepishly at his older brother.

"So, met any new friends?" asked Hermione, wanting to kill the silence. Albus nodded fervently.

James merely scowled loudly and purposefully. Everyone, he knew, would disapprove of Tom Riddle once they had heard of what he had done in Hogwarts to the Muggle-borns, especially John Wilson.

"Yeah," Albus said. "Especially two best friends of mine! They're great!"

"Mind giving us the name, kid?" George said sarcastically with a smile.

"Yep," replied Albus, "Delilah Swan—" Before he could finish, James cut in.

"—and Tom Riddle." His voice was full of obvious contempt.

Suddenly, the whole room fell silent. Harry let his fork fall with a clatter on his plate, evidently horrified. _What did James say?! _Harry thought, his mind spinning. Tom Riddle was the former name of Lord Voldemort, the Dark Wizard that had tormented his life from the very beginning… in killing his parents, in killing so many other people… and using his Death Eaters to murder Sirius Black, the godfather he loved and many other innocent victims.

"_What did you say his name was?!_" Harry said a little too loudly, startling everyone at the table.

Albus glanced nervously at James, who was equally confused. "T… Tom Riddle," he replied shakily.

Harry felt his world crashing down behind him as he exchanged dark looks with Ron and Hermione. Obviously this was something the Hogwarts Headmistress did _not _want Harry to know. _Or Dumbledore, _he thought shrewdly.

"Dad… is anything wrong?" James asked.

Harry looked back up at James and shook his head. "Nothing, I just… I just felt that the name was a bit familiar. I had a friend named Tom Riddle… or at least, I knew someone named Tom Riddle."

"Who?" asked Albus.

Harry shook his head again. "He's dead," he said grimly.

Albus frowned. Why had his father reacted so strongly towards his best friend's name? He noticed that Ron and Hermione both had equally worried expressions plastered on their faces, and it made him feel a little more confused than ever. What was wrong with Tom Riddle? Did they know about Tom bullying Muggles – and perhaps even the time where he used the Cruciatus Curse on Wilson? Had James really told Harry about it?

The family ate in silence during the next few minutes. After finishing, Albus and the others, including Teddy, left the table and all of them decided to take a walk together in Godric's Hollow.

"Don't stray too far," said Harry weakly, already dazed from hearing that Tom Riddle was his youngest son's best friend. Ted smiled reassuringly at his godfather.

"Don't worry, Harry," he said gently. "I'll watch them." Harry smiled gratefully at his godson and couldn't help but to look a little longer at Ted. He was growing to become like his father, Remus Lupin, but that was not to be dwelled upon now. He turned back to the living room and saw that George, Ginny, Ron and Hermione were still looking worried.

"What's going on, mate?" Ron asked.

Harry shook his head. Even he wasn't sure what to think. Hermione bit her lower lip and considered their options.

"This could just be a coincidence, Harry," she said.

"Yeah, could be," he replied plainly. "But I don't know any other Riddle in history, other than Tom Riddle senior and his parents – Voldemort's grandparents – and Voldemort himself."

"Maybe Riddle senior remarried, Harry?" said George, uncertain.

He was about to reply, but something in George's statement made him even more curious. After Tom Riddle senior had left Merope, Harry had known no more of the father of Voldemort. He _could _have remarried Cecilia – or any other woman for that matter. What're more, Harry was certain Dumbledore couldn't have had the interest to follow Voldemort's father – their only subject was Voldemort, and no other.

"Maybe." His tone was as uncertain as George's.

"Let's talk to McGonagall," Ron suggested. "She should have made the connection too."

"And the other Hogwarts teachers as well," Hermione added.

Harry nodded slowly. Ginny approached her husband and gripped his hand tightly, looking at him with a comforting gaze. He smiled and squeezed her hand. There were times when Ginny Potter could sooth almost anyone – a trait Harry had been glad about.

"I'll write a letter to arrange a meet up," he said finally, after thinking of the best solution to approach the problem. "Then we'll discuss everything when Albus and the rest head back."

"What about Ted?" asked Ron, "I'm pretty sure he isn't going anywhere for the rest of the year."

Harry sighed. "We'll keep it from him." He caught Ginny's disapproving glance and shook his head.

"I know he needs to know," he said again. "But we'll tell him after everything's been confirmed. I don't want any confusion."

The five agreed on the plan and began to clean up the place. Harry was doing the dishes with Ginny, and he could sense another one of her I-know-how-you-feel talks.

"Are you worried?" she asked, even though she knew the answer.

"Yeah," Harry replied. "I can't believe after all I've done…"

"It might just turn out to be a coincidence."

"Remus said my instincts were usually right."

"Maybe you're wrong this time."

Harry sighed in exasperation. He glanced at his wife who had also stopped drying the dishes. They had both been accustomed to doing the dishes by hand – a habit James and Albus both didn't completely understand why. Lily, however, was fine with it. She had helped them both sometimes, lifting their moods many a times.

"I could be," he said. "But the facts point back to Voldemort. I don't want another war again, Ginny."

She reached out her hand to caress his face. "I know, Harry. I don't want one either. We've lost so many…" Her voice trailed off as Harry remembered the people whom he had lost to Voldemort. He had lost Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Fred, Mad-Eye, Dumbledore, and most painfully, his parents. He would not lose anyone else again.

* * *

"Professor Slughorn?" Tom Riddle's voice startled the Potions Master, who was in his office sorting out his own schedule for the Christmas holidays. He had promised several students remedial lessons, and decided that it was best to have a lesson only once a week. Short as it may be, Slughorn was usually a lazy professor altogether. He looked up at the door of his office from his table, wondering whether to stay silent in order to make Tom think that he wasn't in, or respond. Foolishly enough, Slughorn chose the latter.

"Come in," he said gruffly. The door swung open and Tom Riddle strode into the room, closed the door and sat down across Slughorn.

"What is it, 'm boy?" he asked. Tom bit his lower lip, as if hesitating a great deal about whatever it is he was about to speak about to Slughorn. It was only an act, but yet, Slughorn could see the hesitation in the young boy's face.

"Speak up, boy. There are no secrets here," he said warmly.

Tom nodded.

"Professor, I wanted to know more about Voldemort," he said.

Slughorn stared at Tom in disbelief. "Why would you want to know about _Voldemort _my boy?" he asked, suddenly anxious.

"I am only curious. I'm sure you knew him back then… I only want to know what he was like, unless, of course, you wish to deprive me of this information…" His tone was perfect. No trace of false interest – as if Tom Riddle had really needed to know about the Dark Lord.

"I don't think I should… he was so dangerous…" Slughorn murmured to himself more than to Tom.

"_Please, _sir? _Tell me_." The last two words that Tom spoke were both filled with strong authority, surprising the Potions Master a little. _You overdid it, _Voldemort berated him. Tom ignored the voice inside of his head. It was only him and Slughorn now.

"I… oh alright, get ready, because it is a long story, Tom."

* * *

Chapter eight done. I've been slowing down, I know, but I'll pray to speed up! o:

I've decided to have ten chapters – at least it won't be the shortest ff ever! Sorry for the delay, I've been lacking brain juice. Chapter ten will only be a simple epilogue, thank you very much.


	9. Chapter 9

New Blood: Return of Tom Riddle

Chapter Nine

Slughorn's Mistake

**Author's Note: **_The title says it all, enjoy this chapter! Thanks for the reviews too, I appreciate them. I might not start on the sequel immediately, because I have this idea bursting to be typed down! Expect a new story soon!_

* * *

"Well, now, Tom, I'm sure you know what Voldemort's real name was," Slughorn said, eyeing the first year cautiously. Did the boy already know most of the facts? Tom nodded, a firm, stony expression upon his pale face.

"My name," replied Tom. "Only… with his grandfather's first name for a middle name, wasn't it?"

"How did you know?" Slughorn asked, fearing that Voldemort had done more than just talk to the boy.

"It's my middle name, too, sir," he added, in case the lack of respect in his voice was enough to make Slughorn dismiss him on the spot. "Are we the same?"

"Of course not," answered Slughorn immediately. "I don't believe you're his exact being, Tom. Everyone is of their own soul. There can never be two of the same."

Tom remained silent, listening in carefully. Slughorn cleared his throat and set aside his calendar.

"Well, Voldemort, as you know, is almost just like you," he started, "He had no parents… no friends… _no one_. He met Dumbledore at the age of eight. That was when he learnt of Hogwarts. I believe Dumbledore guided him at some point, for he was a brilliant student and wizard once he had arrived at Hogwarts—"

"Like me?" Tom didn't care whether it sounded egoistical – he was more interested in their similar personality – Voldemort and his, that is.

"Yes, Tom, very much like you… But do not dwell upon that. Once Voldemort came to Hogwarts, he impressed all the teachers even in his first year. Top scorer in every test, I daresay. As he grew older, he had a few followers – or admirers, if you wish to call them that – and they named themselves _his _Death Eaters. It sounded very dark, and I began to grow more worried. I didn't want to believe Voldemort was spiraling down the path of a Dark Wizard, but everything he did now and then was against my assumptions. He was a powerful boy… too powerful. And then he reached sixteen… a point in time where I couldn't believe in him anymore. He killed innocent people at the young age of sixteen! Don't you see the wrongness in his doings?" Slughorn said, his voice growing more rough and harsh by the minute.

Tom could see that Slughorn had regretted something, and it concerned Voldemort. Slughorn had left out something else…

"And I… I helped him… it was a mistake…" he whispered hoarsely.

"What did you help him… with, sir?" asked Tom hesitantly, fearing the very worst.

Slughorn shook his head. "I shouldn't have told him about Horcruxes…"

"_Horcruxes? _What are Horcruxes?" Tom inquired. Slughorn raised his hand quietly.

"No Tom, I swore I wouldn't speak of Horcruxes ever again after telling Voldemort everything about them… never…" His voice seemed frail; weak. Tom decided that he would leave now – Slughorn looked as though he was about to burst into tears.

"Alright sir," he said quietly. "I'll leave you to your thoughts now." He stood up and bowed slightly. Smiling, he left the office without a word. Slughorn sighed, and leaned back against his seat.

_Please, Professor? Surely a man of your wisdom would impart this information to me…_

Voldemort's voice rang in Slughorn's head, reminding him of all the terrors the Dark Wizard had committed. Slughorn blocked out his painful memories. It had seemed like those days with Voldemort were only yesterday, and today was the result of his favoritism.

Tom Riddle walked up the stairs leading to the Gryffindor common room, intrigued by the information Slughorn had just provided him with. _What are Horcruxes? _Tom asked Voldemort.

_I'll explain it to you later. _Tom grimaced. He didn't like the way Voldemort's attitude had deteriorated, and usually, Tom could feel anger burning inside of him every time the dead wizard reprimanded him. He wasn't Tom's father – even if his name was Tom Riddle – and he didn't have the right to scold him every time Tom did something against _his_ will. It was always Voldemort's decision, not Tom's, and most of the time Tom found himself becoming a slave which Voldemort had complete control over. Tom Riddle would _not _be controlled by Voldemort.

Along the way, however, Tom bumped into Scorpius. The blonde merely looked at Tom in the eye for a second and quickly glanced away in fear. Tom smirked, thinking that the Cruciatus Curse must have scared Scorpius off.

"Hey Scorpius," said Tom. Scorpius looked back at Tom and nodded.

"Hey Riddle," he answered, sounding more squeamish than usual.

"Have you told anyone?" asked Tom, narrowing his eyes. Scorpius shook his head.

"No," he replied. "Wilson was too afraid to try."

Tom smiled. "Good," he said. "Keep it that way."

Scorpius nodded and walked off without saying goodbye. Tom was pleased with himself, knowing that some people had already feared him. Soon, even the Headmistress would learn to avoid him.

* * *

Soon after Tom arrived back at the common room to find it occupied by only a few first years; the rest of the students had gone for the trip to Hogsmeade, leaving Tom alone to his thoughts. He settled down in a corner of the common room on a couch and sighed to himself. _Annoyed? _Voldemort sneered. Tom rebutted, _I'm just tired._

_Very well… would you still like to know about Horcruxes?_

Tom sat up a little straighter now, even though no one was in front of him speaking. _Okay._

The teenage version of Voldemort appeared, dressed in Slytherin robes. _Why do you keep appearing in different clothes or forms?_

Voldemort smirked quietly. _It's a way of showing off._

Tom couldn't help but to laugh at that. Thankfully, no one else had heard him. "Now," Voldemort spoke aloud, knowing very well that no one would hear him even if he had shouted, "Horcruxes."

_They're Dark stuff, _Tom said confidently. _I could tell. _Voldemort smiled. "Yes," he said, "and do you know what they do?" _No. _

"They're like containers – if you wish to call them that – of our souls. You make Horcruxes out of any items and seal a part of your soul in it, to make sure that you live on even though your physical form has been destroyed," he explained. Tom's eyes grew wide with shock.

_You can rip your soul apart? That's going to be painful! I'm not going to do that!_

"You're not going to do that now," Voldemort said, "When you're older, you will learn to bear the pain. But know this; Harry Potter destroyed all seven Horcruxes – he was one of them as well… somehow, I killed the fragment of my soul in him. You must be very cautious. Let no one know about Horcruxes once you have created them, or else, face death."

_Harry Potter was a Horcrux?_

"Yes," answered the Slytherin. "Even humans can become Horcruxes… quite rare, really. Once you have created these Horcruxes, hide them far away from here as possible to prevent anyone from destroying your soul piece by piece." Tom nodded slowly, taking in all of Voldemort's words.

_How do you make one?_

"You kill," he said simply. Tom's eyes widened with horror.

_I can't kill anyone!_

"In time, you will," said Voldemort, not hesitating to hide his annoyance. "You may not do it now, but in time, you will. I assure you of that, Tom."

Tom frowned. He hated the smile on Voldemort's face whenever the Dark Lord knew that Tom had shown some vulnerability, or uselessness. He would not let Voldemort taunt him even if he was only a first year. He would show Voldemort that he was more than the Dark Wizard he would be… he would become _better _than Voldemort in time.

"It's time you grew up," Voldemort said suddenly. Tom narrowed his eyes. _What is that supposed to mean, Voldemort? _

"I'll leave you for now, to study well," Voldemort said. "When you turn sixteen, I will return."

Tom couldn't help but feel a little relieved at that statement. He was more than happy to have himself rid of Voldemort for another five years – and those five years would be the years he would cherish fully. _Right, _he answered.

_Know this, Tom. I will return, and I will still be watching. _Voldemort nodded, and disappeared.

Instantly, Tom felt his mood lift, and for once, his soul was of his own again.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall strode down the familiar road of Godric's Hollow, leading to Harry's home. He had invited her over for an unknown reason, but McGonagall was not one to refuse a meeting with Harry Potter, her former student. It was in the evening, and McGonagall was sure that the house would be children free; Harry had said that Teddy Lupin had kindly offered to take the three Potters for an outing for the day.

"Professor!" called Harry, waving from his doorstep. McGonagall smiled at Harry and nodded as she went closer towards the house. He still had a habit of calling her _Professor_, a title she took with much pride.

"Harry," she greeted, "it's been a long time."

"Yeah," he said, "come on in. Ron and the others are anxious to see you." McGonagall suppressed a grin. It was going to be more than tea now, she predicted. It was a reunion. As soon as she stepped in the house, she was greeted by the faces of George, Ron, Hermione and Ginny. She smiled at them and sat down on the couch opposite the large sofa they were sitting on. Harry sat on a single couch beside her.

"It's good to see you again, Professor," Hermione said, although there was a faint trace of sadness in her eyes. McGonagall had not seen it.

"Yes…" she agreed, "Twenty years already and still it feels like just yesterday that you were still seventeen… and in Hogwarts…"

"Actually," Harry said, "We invited you here for more than just a meeting… Professor."

McGonagall raised her eyebrows.

"We were wondering if there was a Tom Riddle at Hogwarts?" asked Ginny. "Our son Albus… seemed to have become best friends with this Tom."

McGonagall's expression immediately changed. Albus must have told them about his best friend… about Tom Riddle. The name was as familiar to them as it was to her and Dumbledore, and she was certain no other excuse would do. She would have to tell them the truth… and they would not like it at all.

"As you know," she said calmly, "Tom Riddle is indeed studying at our school." She refrained from using the word 'again'.

"He is a complete doppelganger of Voldemort when he was eleven… and his personality also fits that of Voldemort's. The teachers begin to worry, the more Tom progresses. Even Dumbledore doesn't know how to explain this. We are at a loss, but we have found out something. This Tom is exactly like Voldemort in every way – his past, his voice, his personality traits – but his mind. Tom thinks for himself, like any other human would do. The only comfort is that Voldemort doesn't control him."

Harry stared at McGonagall in disbelief. Even _Dumbledore _didn't know how to explain how Tom Riddle managed to come back again?

"It wasn't an accident, was it?" Harry said.

McGonagall shook her head.

"Nobody thought it was. It certainly doesn't look like an accident. Tom Riddle is real," she said.

The whole room was silent for a moment.

"Is he a threat?" asked George. McGonagall thought for a while, and then decided it was best to tell them everything. She had spent the next few minutes telling them about Tom's usual habits in Hogwarts – including the ones where he had bullied Muggle-borns – and how she had found out from Slughorn that Voldemort had been speaking to him all along. Now that she thought about it, Tom Riddle was definitely a threat.

"He is capable of killing," she said, "And when he's older, he will."

"We have to stop him," said Harry. "Albus could be… Albus…"

"Killing an eleven year old boy? That's inhuman, even if he is Voldemort!" Hermione said. "Until he kills, we don't make a move. But Professor," she continued, turning to McGonagall, "if he proves himself to be dangerous, we _have _to know."

"Perhaps. Harry is no longer the Chosen One, however…"

"I don't care," Harry said, "whether I'm part of another prophecy or not. This is Voldemort we're talking about. The man who killed so many people, even the ones we love. He's dangerous and I know it. My scar's been hurting a bit lately."

"Twenty years seems like a break," George said. "I'm ready for anything again."

"Yeah," Ron said, determined. He had remembered how Fred had died during the battle at Hogwarts, and he would not pass up this chance of taking revenge.

"We cannot rush into it," said McGonagall. "We must be patient… Tom has a chance."

"A chance?" repeated Harry.

"He has come back for a reason… one that Voldemort wants to make use of. Tom Riddle has been given a second chance at life, but Voldemort was not. Tom Riddle is only a boy corrupted by Voldemort's soul. He is the one in danger," she explained, "but if he doesn't stand up to Voldemort's words, he will be the danger."

McGonagall could see the rage in Harry's face. He obviously didn't believe that for once, Tom Riddle was a harmless boy – exposed to corruption and evil.

"After this blows over," Hermione said slowly, "Will he really be gone for good?"

"Only if Tom wishes it," she said. "There is a connection. They are similar… but not completely the same."

For the second time that week, the same misty voice of Sybill Trelawney rang in Harry's head.

_For neither can live while the other survives._

* * *

Chapter nine, done! A bit too short, but review please.


	10. Epilogue: Lord Voldemort Returns

New Blood: Return of Tom Riddle

Epilogue

**Author's Note: **_Only a few more days to the new school year (sighs). Thank you all who reviewed, and this epilogue shall lead on to the sequel, New Blood: Riddle's Dark Deeds. To all Tom Riddle fans (myself included), I wish I could spoil you people! The ending of RDD will have a small twist, and hopefully I won't get murdered for that. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this story. After this story, I am starting on another one altogether – the sequel will come later than that._

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Tom Riddle treaded the path leading into the Malfoy Manor. He smirked at the thought of seeing Scorpius again, right before their seventh year started. The fear would overwhelm the young man indeed. He believed Scorpius would have remembered him - out of fear than out of loyalty, and decided that a new ally would not hurt at all. It was only going to be a day before Voldemort's soul returned to him, and Tom would not let the Dark Lord look down upon him. He would not want to be called 'helpless' or 'useless' again.

He knocked on the large doors of the Malfoy Manor and waited patiently. He was certain Scorpius Malfoy would still recognize him – if not, the young man had chosen not to think about Tom out of fear. Over the last few years, Tom had made a reputation for himself. Everyone in Hogwarts had looked to him as the most brilliant student in Hogwarts – he had topped his OWLs easily, and was heading for his NEWTs next year. Tom could only feel proud of himself – and he had even gained a few admirers.

But Tom was not one to brag about his handsome looks – he had more important things to do than to fall in love. He had a job Voldemort had failed to finish, and he would do it all for his mother's wrongful death.

The door swung open and Tom was greeted by Scorpius Malfoy's father, Draco Malfoy.

"Good evening sir," greeted Tom politely. "I trust you remember me?"

Malfoy looked skeptical.

"I believe I haven't, young man. Are you a friend of Scorpius'? What are you doing at this time of night here?" asked Malfoy, his eyes scanning Tom. It was strange to see Scorpius' friend visiting him at night, almost near to midnight.

"Yes," Tom replied. "And I am a friend of yours as well. I just wanted to visit you both."

This time, Malfoy seemed dumbfounded.

"My friend?" he murmured. "Who are you?"

"Tom Riddle," he said, bowing, "Otherwise known as Voldemort. Do you remember me now, Malfoy?"

To Tom's anger, Malfoy laughed bitterly. "Voldemort's dead, Tom. Whoever you are, I believe you must still assume he's alive?" Tom merely smiled. He would understand soon.

Five minutes passed. Tom could hear the grandfather clock in the manor strike twelve midnight. He felt a familiar force entering his body, and knew that it was Voldemort who had returned. _Right on time, _he mused.

"I am Voldemort," Tom hissed, "whether you like it or not, Draco."

Malfoy almost tripped as he stumbled backwards in fear. Tom's voice had changed completely into that of Voldemort's – the same, eerie, high and chilling voice he had heard almost everyday twenty years ago.

"What are you playing at?" he asked, evidently frightened. Tom continued, in Voldemort's voice, "I am here to reclaim my surviving servant, Malfoy. Or are you defying my orders again?"

Before Malfoy could speak, Tom spoke again, but this time, he spoke with his own voice that belonged to a sixteen year old.

"Can I come in?" he asked, smiling.

_To be continued…_


End file.
